The Scáthan
by GuildedDragonfly
Summary: Twenty Years ago Uther completed his campaign against all things magic. Now the descendant of one of his adversaries is back for revenge and Morgana will suffer the consequences.
1. The Vassal King

_**Chapter one: The Vassal king**_

_**Twenty Two years ago**_

An autumn fog clung to the undergrowth of Darkling Woods as King Uther and his Royal Guard made their way towards the clearing, the evening sunlight draping through the trees and bathing the open space in an unnatural glow. Uther's eyes darted about uneasily, his ears straining to make out any unexpected sounds over the snapping twigs of his guard walking close behind him.

Tentatively he stepped out into the centre of the clearing, his men fanning out behind him at the edges of the wood in tight formation. An eerie silence hung around them, not even the sounds of birdsong reaching their ears. The tension was palpable as the eight men shifted uncomfortably in their armour, their rapid breath suspended frozen in the cold air.

"Greetings Sire."

Uther's head snapped back to the very centre of the clearing in front of him, his eyes widening in surprise to see a figure standing calmly before him, which only seconds before had not been there.

The man wore a simple grey cloak, thrown back over his narrow shoulders. His tunic was a deep blue - plain but well made and he held his head high with the authority of a leader. A thin band of silver sat upon his head, a primitive version of the golden crown that Uther bore upon his own brow. Pale blue eyes the colour of ice stared unblinking at the King of Camelot as the figure smoothly lowered himself to one knee, finally breaking eye contact in a sign of respect and submission. A small smile of recognition played on Uther's lips as he signalled for the man before him to rise.

"Skoll, it's good to see you old friend," smiled the King, his eyes not reflecting the warmth of his voice, "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting."

"As your vassal king of the Scáthan people, it is my duty to answer your summons my Lord."

Uther raised an eyebrow at this and nodded slowly in response, "Yes… quite." He agreed, his eyes flicking up to meet the cold blue stare of Skoll, still unblinking, as he took a step closer to him. "Well, to business I think. My informants have advised me that you have withdrawn from your current post in the Kaigan territories. Is this true?"

Skoll's calm stance faltered for an instant but was quickly composed as he bowed his head, nodding an agreement, "That is true Sire."

"And what is your reason for this?" demanded the King.

Skoll paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words carefully before giving his response, "There has been word," he replied eventually, "That Camelot has been dissolving a number of its allegiances. My people felt… unsure of the situation and a tactical retreat was deemed necessary. We trust you understand our position – this is no reflection of our treaty with your realm, oh King."

"You feared that our alliance would be broken?"

"The word from the outlying territories was that these allies, these people, were being slaughtered by your men. You must understand our caution."

"Why?" Uther barked angrily, "What cause did you have to believe that my word was not sacrosanct? What caution could I possibly understand that would forgive abandoning your post at Kaigan?"

Again Skoll paused, sizing up the King's words before lowering his head in subjection to the rebuke. "The reports, my liege, were that your connections were only being…" Skoll chose his words carefully, "…severed, with those parties that were of the… magical realm and given our very nature we believe that we had just cause for concern. I very much hope that this is not the case, as we for our part would make it known to you now that our loyalties to Camelot and its King are unwavering."

A thin smile tugged at Uther's lips for an instant before being deftly replaced by a look of concern, "Skoll, you well know that the Scáthan people, the people of the shadows, have been allied with Camelot for a millennium and your information and protection have always proven invaluable. You have been loyal guards and envoys to the throne and my own Father was a close friend of yours. You can trust that this counts for much, even in the present climate of my Kingdom."

"Those words are of great comfort to us my Lord, we of the shadows have enjoyed a close bond with Camelot for generations as you say and we would not see it fail. Our eyes are your eyes oh King and we will return at once to the Kaigan territories."

Uther smiled broadly, "I'm glad to hear it old friend, first however we should celebrate our continuing alliance. I shall hold a feast in your honour – how many are your people? I had heard you suffered many losses at Genwrith."

"It is true our numbers are not as they once were. We had our own enemies to battle at Genwrith and it has taken a heavy toll. Now we are just short of 200 men, women and children - but those that remain have sworn loyalty to you."

"I don't doubt it," smiled the King, "The banquet will be held three days hence in the great hall at Camelot, you must all attend."

"We will be most honoured." replied Skoll, bowing his farewell. A host of faces appeared briefly out of the shadows, surrounding the vassal king and one by one they sank noiselessly into the fast encroaching darkness.

Uther and his men waited a moment longer before heading out of the clearing toward their horses and riding back to Camelot. Not one word was spoken between them through the entire one hour journey, and as they dismounted and approached the court steps, Uther gestured that only Sir Henrith, Captain of the Guard, should accompany him to the dining hall.

Uther walked directly to the table in the corner of the hall and poured wine into a goblet, his eyes slipping distrustfully to the shadows of the room, unsure if he had seen any tell-tale movements. He drank quickly from the goblet before turning to face Henrith, who stood to attention before his King. Uther called him over with a flick of his wrist and held out his hand expectantly. Henrith withdrew a small sheaf of parchment from his tunic along with a thin length of charcoal and handed them both to Uther. With one hand covering his words the King wrote a short message, carefully folded it and handed it back to the Captain. Nodding an unspoken agreement, Henrith turned and walked toward a lit candle on the centre table. Opening the parchment barely a crack he read the message hurriedly and then set the corner alight, making sure that every last scrap was reduced to nothing but ash. He had his orders.

Uther's scribbled message on the parchment had been short and to the point... "Scáthan cannot be trusted. Make arrangements. Spare none."

*****


	2. In the Shadows

_**Chapter Two: In the Shadows**_

_**Present Day**_

Market day in Camelot was always a noisy and chaotic affair. Farmers travelled in from the outlying villages with their produce and market traders of all walks of life packed into the market square, sporting their wares and shouting their trades at the tops of their voices. Fish, fresh from the rivers of Donrigal; beef, newly salted in barrels and all kinds of fowl were strung up by their feet in the shaded areas of the streets. Vegetable stalls and fruit stalls were crammed in amongst the cloth traders, tailors, tinkers, bakers and shoemakers. Vendors pedalling their roasted meats and sugared treats wove between them all as troubadours and mountebanks all vied for the attention of the crowd. In short, a heady and unrivalled atmosphere thick with the stench of slowly rotting produce and sweating bodies packed into this relatively confined space.

Feeding this cacophony of activity was the open mouth of the city gates, portcullis raised high to allow a swarming and unending mass of villagers and traders alike inside the castle walls. Stationed at each side of the gates stood two, rather bored looking guards, each giving a half-hearted glance at the odd trader that jostled slightly too close for comfort, but mainly counting down the minutes of their shift - a cold flagon of beer calling softly in their ears.

Caught up as they were in their own personal distractions, neither noticed a sleight figure dressed simply in a plain grey cloak, flit noiselessly from the shadows and slip into the centre of the stream of people on the roadway. Nor did they notice this figure melt once more into the dim shadow of the market, moving undetected amongst the throngs. Neither solid nor translucent it seemed to be the very essence of a shadow, creeping along the edges of perception, there and gone again before the mind was fully sure of what it had seen.

Icy blue eyes stared out unblinking from beneath the hood of the cloak, drinking in the hustle and bustle of Camelot, scrutinising everything around them. Hours passed as the stranger made its way in and out of the market streets, closer and closer to the palace walls - absorbing the gossip and the shouted scraps of conversations thrown heartily around, tucking each shred of useful information away for safe keeping.

As the stalls gradually thinned, the hooded creature became more and more anxious, darting from one shaded covering to another and feeling increasingly exposed. Just on the verge of turning back to the safety of the busy market, it suddenly focused on two women deep in conversation, walking toward the stall of a trader of imported cloth. It was the mention of the King that had drawn the creature's ear but on closer inspection it could almost smell the royalty dripping from every pore of the taller of the two women. Dressed impeccably in a deep burgundy gown gilded with silver lace, bedecked in fine jewellery and wearing a cloak of royal red, this could only be a member of Uther's household. Long raven-black hair hung in soft waves down her back and she walked with her head held high with authority and breeding. 'Yes - Royalty indeed' mused the lurking figure, inching closer to the pair.

"What of this one Gwen?" asked Morgana, running the cool bolt of Spanish silk between her fingers.

"The green would certainly match your eyes but see, the colouring is faded in places – perhaps the blue instead?" replied Gwen, ignoring the indignant cry of the trader.

"Perhaps…" Morgana pondered, eyeing the silks indecisively, "which do you think would most impress the court?"

"The court… or the King?"

"Why the King of course, I must do something to get into his good graces."

"You believe a new gown will accomplish that?" asked Gwen sounding decidedly unconvinced.

"Uther will be entertaining King Boerick of the Northern provinces next month and you know on these occasions he does so like to show off his ward," explained Morgana effecting a small curtsey, "I fear I am little more than a trophy to him at times and so yes, I think a new gown might help him forget my shortcomings."

Gwen grasped her arm in dismay, "You mean far more to him than that my Lady – you know that."

"Perhaps," reflected Morgana, running her fingers over the thick velvet held out by the fawning trader, "However you did not see the look in his eyes when he addressed me in the dining hall."

"When he… berated you for helping the druid boy?" probed Gwen in a small voice.

"No, later that evening when it was reported that the boy had escaped from the dungeon."

"When you were dining with him?"

"Yes," said Morgana, turning to face Gwen, "He said that if he found out that I was in any way involved, he would forget the promise that he made to my Father to protect me without a second thought and… and that the consequences would be… extremely severe."

"What do you think he meant by that?"

"I dread to think – but the look he gave me was so much worse Gwen. So cold… so unforgiving." said Morgana anxiously.

"Well then! It would appear that a new gown is a fine idea." exclaimed Gwen with a deep breath, drawing a smile from her mistress.

"It does indeed."

"And next time a druid is in need of rescue what will you do?" Gwen chided good-naturedly.

Morgana grew serious once more, "I will make sure I am nowhere near the castle square. I could not stand to watch more executions."

"Perhaps that is wise… I hear the hills are beautiful this time of year and perfect for horse riding!"

"Ah Gwen," laughed Morgana, "I think I shall promote you to trusted advisor. You always have a solution to all my troubles."

"At your service milady," she grinned, "Now perhaps we put this poor fellow out of his misery before he begins to tear out his hair." Gwen nodded toward to cloth trader who had become increasingly agitated and was pulling bolt after bolt of fine materials from his wagon in an attempt to interest the Lady Morgana.

Moving carefully behind the shadow of an upturned cart, the cautious figure watched as the two women purchased various lengths of fabric before moving out of sight among the crowds.

Certain not to be overlooked, the creature slowly lowered the hood of the grey cloak, standing solid and whole for the first time since entering Camelot. The cloak and tunic were the garments of a king, albeit a vassal king, but their previous owner had long since died. The young woman beneath the cloak had deep auburn hair pulled roughly into a long plait hanging down the length of her back. Full lips, high cheek bones and those eyes of ice inherited from her Father.

Determination lined her brow as a plan began to take shape in her mind. A plan that would see the culmination of a lifetime spent dreaming of revenge. Uther would live to regret his actions all those years ago and Lamrieth, daughter of Skoll, the once vassal king of Scáthia, would be the one to make sure that happened. She could almost see the threads of Uther's world unravelling and she allowed herself an indulgent moment of glee that this time was finally at hand…

*****


	3. Trouble this way comes

_**Chapter Three: Trouble this way comes**_

Lamrieth drew herself up out of the shadows and stretched in the early morning light, watching the villagers go about their daily chores. She marvelled at their apparent contentment with such a simple life; hers had been such a hard upbringing she could not imagine such a routine. It was now barely passed day break and still the streets were alive with activity; people fetching water, feeding livestock and running errands. She wandered aimlessly amongst them all, relishing her ambiguity and exploring the different streets and alleys.

Turning yet another corner Lamrieth came upon a stone well hewn into the ground, a large number of people gossiping around its edge, waiting for their turn to draw water. She stood on the fringes of this crowd for a few moments before deciding that this was as good a place as any to set things in motion. All night long she had turned her plans over in her mind, carefully fine-tuning each component until she was sure she had the simplest, most effective solution. Now she was finally ready and confident that she had not left out any detail.

The bells of the castle tower chimed the hour of seven and Lamrieth steeled herself in the shadows for the task she was about to complete. There could be no second thoughts, no pangs of regret, not now. Any pity that might have been felt for those that would potentially be caught up in her plot had long since withered and died along with the compassion in her heart.

Closing her eyes, Lamrieth focused for the briefest of moments on her outward appearance before emerging once more from the shadows. Now her cloak was jet black and swirled around her with majesty and awe. Her rich auburn hair appeared the colour of night and her face was fuller, her features carefully altered. She looked out upon the crowd with deep hazel coloured eyes and strode purposefully toward the well. A few people turned to stare at her imposing figure with curiosity and a perceptible hush began to fall. Lamrieth stepped confidently up to the well and produced a small vile from beneath her cloak. A devilish smile crept across her face as she surveyed her audience. It had been a tough call between enacting this performance and inventing a subtler character. Eventually she had decided that the only course of action was to be bold and ensure that she force Uther's hand.

"I call a plague on the Kingdom of Camelot!" She cried suddenly, laughing with glee as looks of fear and panic spread across the faces of the townsfolk. With that she threw the small vile down into the well with a flourish. There was a small splash followed by a brilliant flash of light, leaving an eerie green glow pulsing in the depths of the water.

"Sorcerer!" someone cried out in alarm, as people began to run away in terror. Several of the braver men rushed forward to try and seize her but in a swirl of cloak and wind and shadow, Lamrieth vanished before their very eyes.

Panic and confusion escalated quickly among the people and vessels of water were thrown down forgotten as everyone desperately tried to flee the scene. Lamrieth's eyes danced with joy as she surveyed the aftermath of her stunt, watching as more and more people took up the cry that a sorcerer had been seen. Guards raced down the narrow alleys chasing frantic sightings of imaginary cloaked creatures.

Lamrieth darted out into a wider street, her black cloak billowing out behind her as she ran. She cast a quick look behind her, making sure that the guards had seen her and sure enough a small contingent of men followed the pointing arms of villagers directing them her way. With a quick side step she vanished once more into the shadows leaving the guards confused at the end of a walled up alley. Time and time again Lamrieth played this game of cat and mouse with the guards until it seemed that the entire garrison had been sent out to join the pursuit. Everywhere you looked groups of men sporting the smart red tunics of the guard ran down streets, entering houses and upending carts to hunt for her. The warning bells rang out into the air, adding only to the panic of the people.

Now she had their attention, she thought smugly, now Uther was bound to take notice and the whole city would cry for her blood.

She waited until she saw a group of guards exit a small dwelling, its occupants standing huddled and frightened in the doorway. As they turned toward the next house she appeared from the shadows and ran deliberately into their eye-line.

"There she is! After her!" They cried sprinting headlong down the alley behind her.

At the end of the narrow passage, a brick wall blocked her path and Lamrieth rounded on the men, snarling in apparent anger at being cornered. The men advanced slowly, swords and spears levelled at her chest. Two guards inched forward and a sword was placed at her throat. Holding up her hands in defeat she was quickly thrown to the ground and shackled – though none of the men noticed how pleased their captive looked at her arrest.

Dragging her to her feet, she was escorted back through the streets to the palace court. Word soon spread that she had been apprehended and cheers rang out from the crowds, many jeering her as she was roughly pulled along by the guards.

The large double oak doors to the court room were thrown open and Lamrieth was virtually carried inside as she struggled vehemently against her captors. Approaching the throne, the guards dumped her unceremoniously before the King and his entourage. Two swords were held to her throat as she was commanded to stand.

Raising her head to the throne, Lamrieth laid her eyes on the King of Camelot, the object of her hatred, for only the second time in her life. Pure venom crackled through her being for an instant before she remembered her plans and replaced it with a silent look of calm determination. The courtroom was full, the news of her actions at the well drawing quite a crowd and nobles and dignitaries of the court lined either side of the room. Lamrieth was pleased to see that the raven-haired Ward of the King was in attendance, seated to the left of Uther himself. To the right sat a young man with fair hair, his features not unlike the Kings… this must be the son, she mused. He was much changed from the screaming whelp she remembered and she itched to draw him also into her plan. Reluctantly she turned her head back to the King's ward… her plan was good and she must stick to it. There would be time enough for the Prince to experience her attentions at a later date.

The woman that the raven-haired Lady had called Gwen stood behind her mistress, while another servant stood behind the man Lamrieth assumed to be the Prince. He had dark tousled hair, slightly oversized ears and wore a red scarf around his neck. But those eyes… large and blue and full of secrets… There was an aura around the boy that drew Lamrieth's gaze and made him shift uncomfortably.

"What is your name?" sounded the cold voice of the King, snapping Lamrieth back to attention and the matter at hand.

"I have many – but you may call me Bhrón." She replied.

"Sorrow…" whispered Morgana, before guiltily clamping her mouth shut and shooting an uneasy glance at the King.

Uther gave her a contemptuous look, "You forget your place, Morgana." He rebuked.

"But that is indeed the meaning of my name." Lamrieth interjected, rolling the newly learned name _Morgana_ silently around in her mind.

"Immaterial," growled Uther, "You are charged with Sorcery – how do you plead."

"I do not deny my actions. This Kingdom is responsible for unspeakable evils;" she declared boldly, "Justice must be served."

"You believe that it is justice to poison the water supply of the poor people of this city?"

"All are guilty; all have stood by and watched their King slaughter thousands of innocents."

"Innocents? No innocents have died, only those that have performed diabolical acts of magic… and those that would aid them."

"You, Uther Pendragon, have no right to declare this ancient way of life… diabolical."

"I am King of this realm, and in the best interests of my people I have every right!" fumed the King.

"You have only ever acted for your own selfish purpose!"

"Enough! By your own words you condemn yourself," shouted Uther, his stern glare rigid and unforgiving, "It is the decision of this court that you shall be executed tomorrow at dawn. Take her away."

As the guards lifted her bodily from the palace court, she cast one last, long look to the Lady Morgana, making sure the King saw her silent plea. Lamrieth watched Morgana look from her to the King, withering under his distrustful stare; before she was carried off and out of the double doors and could no longer see their exchange. Giving herself up to the guards she ceased her struggles and congratulated herself. It was enough.

*****


	4. Subterfuge

_**Chapter Four: Subterfuge**_

The dim orange flame from the torch, jammed into the nearby sconce, flickered miserably in the dank chill of the dungeon. The meagre light it cast reflected off of the moisture trickling down the rough hewn walls. Well-trodden straw matted with dirt and filth littered the floor and Lamrieth huddled in the corner, her cloak wrapped tightly about her. Stout, solid manacles clamped around her ankles and wrists shackling her to the thick iron ring embedded deep into the wall.

The heavy foot-fall of the dungeon guard came toward her cell and Lamrieth closed her eyes. She forced herself to take long, measured breaths to feign sleep. There was a pause as the guard peered into her cell, then, satisfied that all was well, she heard him continue on his way.

It had been mid-morning when she had first been dragged here and twelve long hours had slowly inched past. Lamrieth however, had used the time wisely and had carefully studied the patterns of the guard's shifts and movements around the dungeons. Four hours into the night watch and she knew that she had every detail committed to memory. The next stage of her plan needed absolute accuracy and impeccable timing if it was going to succeed.

Waiting for the guard to round the corner, she heard him begin to descend the steps leading to the lower levels and counted out another minute, patiently biding her time. Creeping from the corner, careful not to allow her chains to make a sound, Lamrieth peered through the bars toward the two guards left at the entrance way of the dungeon. Their backs were to her and they were hunched over a table, engrossed in a crude game of chance with a pair of dice.

Convinced that the coast was clear, Lamrieth sat back and closed her eyes. The makeup of her very being lost its rigid structure and she melted from our world into the world of shadows, pouring out of the shackles and slipping across the cell and through the bars in one fluid movement. Her shadow passed quickly down the passageway and passed the unsuspecting guards, re-materialising again in the dim entranceway to the dungeon. She took a few deep breaths to ready herself for this next task; it would take all of her concentration to effect the next part of her charade and she just hoped that she could make it convincing enough.

The edges of her body began to blur and shift as once more she altered the physical composition of her appearance and clothing. Black cloak was replaced with rich red and her previously dead straight hair was now a tell-tale raven-black, hanging in loose curls down her back. The dark hazel of her eyes adopted a green glow and pale white skin contrasted the darkness of her hair.

Keeping close to the wall, Lamrieth stole down the dungeon steps toward the unsuspecting guards until she was right behind them. Taking hold of an empty stool she deftly swung it high and brought it crashing down on the head of one of the guards. He crumpled over instantly and the second guard jumped up in surprise. Lamrieth turned to him, making sure that the hood of her red cloak slipped back slightly revealing her face.

"My Lady?" spluttered the guard in disbelief, before he too slumped to the floor, the stool reduced to little more than fire wood at the blow.

Wasting no time, Lamrieth allowed her features to dissolve back to her own likeness as she reached out for the keys bound to the guard's belt. The subterfuge was not needed now.

Hurrying back down the passageway, she quickly slipped the key into the lock and re-entered her cell. She had no fear that the third guard would return, by her calculations it would take him another thirty minutes to complete his rounds, but time was of the essence.

Selecting a smaller key from the guard's collection, she opened the lock to each of her discarded manacles - leaving the key jutting out of the last one. From her left boot she pulled a short dagger and quickly tore a small length of red material from her cloak, winding it carefully around a nail sticking out from the doorway to the cell.

Lamrieth surveyed her handiwork and was satisfied that everything was in order. In the next moment she was gone, nothing more than a strange perception of a darkening in the recesses of the room that wove its way up the dungeon steps and out into the cold night air.

But the night was not over yet and she had one more task to accomplish before she could retire for some well-earned rest.

Slipping in and out of the shadows, Lamrieth systematically searched the bed chambers of the entire royal wing of the castle until she finally found what she was looking for. There, bathed in the pale moonlight, lay the prone figure of the Lady Morgana sleeping fitfully in her grand four poster bed.

Taking her dagger once more in hand, she eased open the door to Morgana's wardrobe and ran her fingers over the many fine gowns within. Selecting the rich royal-red cloak she had seen the King's ward wear in the market place, she was pleased to see that it matched the colour she had created in her own cloak perfectly. With the dagger, she quietly cut another small length from the bottom hem, concealing the bit of cloth in her tunic.

Leaving the cloak hung on the door; Lamrieth stole noiselessly up to the sleeping figure of Morgana and crept weightlessly over the bed until her lips were inches from the other woman's ear. She tilted her head and pondered the fitful sleep of her subject, watching Morgana's eyes roll erratically in their sockets and waited for her to settle before whispering softly to her.

"The execution is in a few hours…" she breathed, her words swirling upon the air and echoing quietly around the chamber, "You do not want to witness such bloodshed…"

Morgana's eyes fluttered open for a second and then she was still once more, her lips forming the word 'bloodshed' in mimicry of Lamrieth.

"You have not much time… you must leave the castle now so that you are far away on the hills by daybreak."

"Daybreak… far away," muttered Morgana, writhing on the bed under the words of her intruder.

"Leave now… leave now… no time to lose!" repeated Lamrieth, her words growing in urgency and skipping all around Morgana's head. With one last gasp of breath Morgana's eyes opened in shock, her pupils struggling to focus in the darkness of her room. She sat up slowly peering into the gloom but there was nothing to be seen, except perhaps a dark shadow moving in the corner but Morgana dismissed that without a second thought as a trick of the light.

Throwing back the covers and climbing out of the bed, she stood in the middle of her chambers and struggled to remember what it was that had woken her. She could remember nothing of her dreams except the image of the sorcerer woman from the court yesterday.

"The execution is in a few hours," she whispered suddenly, "I… I have no wish to witness such… such bloodshed."

Morgana paused, frowning, as an odd sense of déjà vu settled over her. The red colouring of her cloak in the dim moonlight caught her eye and with a sudden resolve the Lady swept across the room to her wardrobe. Selecting a simply grey tunic and riding slacks Morgana quickly cast off her night gown, shivering in the cold of the night and pulled her selected items on. Pushing her feet into stout leather boots she lastly tied her cloak around her shoulders, pulling the hood over her head for warmth.

Slipping from her chambers, Morgana walked quietly but purposefully down the stairwell and left the castle unchallenged, even as the peel of the warning bells began to sound. Her mind was fixed only on her need to be free from the palace grounds in time to avoid witnessing the execution at dawn, so she hurried on toward the stables. She could hear the shouts of guards and the sound of their feet pounding the streets nearby but all she could think of was the face of the poor wretch to face the block in just a few hours and she could not bear the thought of being a spectator to it. So on she hurried with nothing but this singular thought in mind.

She had not gone more than two steps inside the stable doors when a voice cried out behind her, stopping her in her tracks.

"You there! Halt I say!"

Morgana turned around in confusion, surprise flashing across her features as she faced a small band of swords all pointed at her chest.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded in wonder.

"My Lady, we have no wish to hurt you but we have orders to bring you before the King," replied one of guards taking a step towards her.

"On whose authority? And on what grounds!?" Morgana cried impetuously.

"On my authority, Morgana," said Arthur quietly, stepping to the front of the guards and looking Morgana squarely in the eye. She frowned in confusion at the look of sad resignation on his face and shook her head in bewilderment.

"_Your_ authority?" she repeated.

"Oh Morgana," sighed the Prince, signalling with a small flick of his wrist for his men to restrain her, "What have you done?"

*****


	5. The King's Displeasure

_**Chapter Five: The King's Displeasure**_

Morgana paced up and down the small antechamber to Uther's private rooms, watched doggedly by the two soldiers instructed to guard her until she was granted an audience with the King. A heavy feeling of apprehension lay solidly in her gut as she desperately tried to comprehend the chain of events that had led her to this moment. Arthur had said very little to her during their journey back to the castle; he had simply dismissed her objections and proclamations of innocence and looked at her first with disapproval, then disappointment and lastly – what she could only describe as pity.

He had escorted her back to her chambers and grimly informed her that she was confined to her quarters and must await a meeting with her guardian at day break. With that he had pulled her door closed behind him with a bang and stalked off down the corridor, leaving two guards to flank the doorway and ensure that she stayed put. She had spent the remainder of the night in much the same state as she was now, fitfully pacing up and down and working herself up in agitation and confusion.

Morgana stopped in her tracks and spun around to face the wooden door as it was at last thrown open, the guards stepping to one side of the entry way and drawing back their long spears to allow her access. As she was ushered into Uther's chambers, Morgana pulled back her shoulders and raised her chin, determined not to appear afraid to face the King. She had nothing to hide after all.

Uther sat at the head of his long wooden dining table, appraising her silently as he slowly chewed the last of his breakfast. The remnants of a selection of breads and meats lay before him, being hurriedly cleared away by Sebring – the Kings somewhat slimy and obsequious man servant. Arthur stood to one side of the table leaning up against a pillar, arms folded, head down and refusing to look at her.

Morgana took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and took another step forward.

"Sire, I demand at once to know why I have been so detained, it is a great humiliation to bear that…"

"Enough," said the King simply, his voice calm and totally void of emotion.

He raised his goblet to his lips, taking a long, slow draught of its contents. His eyes never left hers, their cold steel slicing through her from above the goblet rim. Cup still in hand Uther rose and turned his back to her, resting his arm along the high back of the chair. The tension in the room was tangible and Morgana ached to speak again and break the silence but dared not, her lips quivering with unspoken words.

She watched as Sebring backed away from the table, his arms laden with Uther's leftovers, cringing and fawning his way out of the servant's doorway to the Kitchens. And still the King did not turn around, nor did Arthur raise his eyes and Morgana felt a sickening dread at her guardian's disapproval.

"Where is the woman?" Uther questioned at last, his voice softly spoken into the far facing wall.

"…The woman?" Morgana repeated in bewilderment.

Uther turned to face her, a look of utter amazement on his face that she would deny knowledge of the matter at hand.

"The sorcerer that was to be executed this morning; the woman brought before the court yesterday," spat the King.

"The woman that poisoned the water?"

"Yes - the woman _you_ released from the dungeons last night! Where is she?" demanded Uther, his voice rising dangerously in anger.

Morgana's eyes widened in surprise, "I have not released her!"

"I warn you child," said the King in a low voice, stepping menacingly toward her, "I am in no mood to be trifled with. Answer me now… or you _will _regret it."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably against his pillar, darting a look between his father and his adoptive sister, at a loss for anything he could do to help the situation.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" exclaimed Morgana.

"Do not lie to me!" roared the King, flinging his goblet across the room. The dregs from the cup spattered against the opposite wall and the sound of the clattering metal echoed loudly around the room. Uther's temple pulsed with fury as he fought to keep his composure.

Morgana waited a few seconds before tentatively replying, "Please My Lord, I swear to you, I know nothing of this."

Arthur stepped forward and put a hand on his father's shoulder, holding him back in his rage, "Morgana, please… this is ridiculous," he interjected, "You were seen, there is no point denying it."

"Seen? How could I have been seen?" she cried in frustration, "I went from my chambers directly to the stables. I did not step foot in the dungeon!"

Without saying a word, Uther reached into his tunic and removed a small scrap of red cloth and threw it down onto the table.

"What is that?" asked Morgana, staring blankly at the stony faces before her.

"It was snagged on a nail in the sorcerer's sell," Arthur informed her.

"But it means nothing to me," she insisted, shaking her head imploringly.

Uther pursed his lips appearing to ponder her words, before signalling to the guards still stood to attention in the doorway.

"Remove the Lady Morgana's cloak and bring it to me," he instructed calmly.

"What? Unhand me!" she cried as the guards stepped forward without hesitation. One pinned her arms to he sides as the other deftly unfastened the clasp about her neck, dragging the cloak from her shoulders. Morgana was left standing indignantly in her riding clothes as the cloak was presented to the King. Both guards then silently returned to their posts ignoring the Lady's scathing stares.

Uther turned the cloak over slowly in his hands, running his fingers carefully over the length of the material until he found what he as looking for. He held up the cloth for her to see his discovery - a small tell-tale rip near to the bottom hem line.

"The dungeon guard swears that it was you he saw in the passageway before you rendered him unconscious and now we have physical proof also," said Uther, throwing down the cloak in disgust. "So now I will ask you one more time, _where is the woman?_"

"Please… I don't know," she whispered, her face pale as she realised the predicament she now faced.

"Camelot's gates are closed Morgana, no-one has left the palace grounds," insisted Arthur, "If you were fetching horses to make your escape we know you must have her hidden somewhere. Just tell us where and end this now."

Arthur's eyes were wide and beseeching as he urged her to do what he thought was best before the situation spiralled out of control.

"If only I could!" she replied, "But I tell you this is some kind of trickery! I was not there."

"How _dare_ you stand there and lie to me!" fumed the King, closing the gap between them in an instant and grasping her solidly in a vice-like grip, "You will tell me where you have hidden her, this instant!"

Uther punctuated his words by shaking his ward bodily by the shoulders, her eyes bright with terror at his unbridled fury. Releasing her suddenly she stumbled backwards against the table, grasping its wooden edge to stop herself tumbling to the floor. Picking herself up, Morgana's eyes swung in desperation from one man to the other, silently begging either of them to believe her words.

"I do not know how to answer you my Lord, how to convince you that I am speaking the truth and that…"

"Silence," interrupted Uther with contempt, "not another word unless you are ready to confess your actions and beg for my forgiveness."

A deathly silence hung in the air as Morgana stood tight-lipped before him, unable to answer his decree.

"Very well," declared the King eventually, "when you aided the Druid boy I held back from punishing you but I will not be taken for a fool. We shall see how resolute you are after a sound lashing."

"Father you can't be serious!" Arthur objected in horror as Morgana slumped once more against the table, her jaw hanging slack at the King's judgement.

Uther swung round to face his son, fixing him with a hard stare, "What would you have me do?"

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, then simply shook his head biting his words, "Not this," he said at last, "_Not this!"_

"Morgana is a member of the Royal court, my Ward!" Uther said heatedly, "She is supposed to be an exemplary figure to all and this is how she behaves. It is too much to be betrayed a second time in a few short weeks, it _will_ not be borne! No Arthur, she has left me no choice in this."

"But Father, maybe if…"

"My decision is final do you hear me?" raged the King, "Morgana's actions cannot go unpunished. Anyone else would already be facing the executioners block. You know that."

"Yes Father," mumbled the Prince, staring in distress at Morgana, unable to do anything further for her, for fear of angering the King yet more.

Uther's eyes settled once more upon his ward, his eyes cold and calculated, "I told you before child that my promise to your Father would not protect you from such acts of betrayal but it seems that you would not be warned."

Morgana simply shook her head in dismay, not trusting herself to speak.

"Escort her to her chambers," Uther instructed his son, "and summon the Master of the Guard immediately."

"Yes Sire," replied Arthur dolefully. Stepping forward he put his arm gently around Morgana's shoulders and steered her out of the room, supporting her weight as they walked.

Neither Uther or Arthur - nor indeed Morgana, noticed a shift in the gloom in the far corner of the King's personal chambers as all three members of the royal household exited the room. You could be forgiven for thinking it a mere trick of the light, a cloud passing across the sun perhaps… but there was no mistaking the soft peal of delighted laughter that roiled its way across the floor in the wake of this slow moving shadow…

*****


	6. The Awakening

_**Things do get a little dark in places – you have been warned – but I assure you it has its purpose…**_

* * *

_**Chapter Six: The Awakening**_

Merlin tripped clumsily on the last of the steps that led to the royal wing, stumbling in his haste and falling painfully to his knees. He clutched the leather bag that he was carrying to his chest, awkwardly rolling onto his side to protect the contents that clinked noisily inside. As he fell he jarred heavily into a nearby candelabrum, only just catching the heavy stand as it fell towards his head. With dismay he watched as one of the long white candles rolled down the corridor coming to a leisurely stop at the feet of the waiting soldiers guarding Morgana's door.

Rising quickly to his feet, Merlin dusted himself down and heaved the candelabrum back up onto its plinth, fumbling to put the candles into the extending arms. Jogging down the corridor he slowed under the reproachful look of the guards, pausing for a second before bending to scoop up the last escapee candle and waving it in the air in mock triumph. Without a flicker of recognition on either of the guard's faces, his smile soon fell and Merlin turned on his heel to return the candle to its rightful place with a small cough of embarrassment.

Merlin hitched the bag up under his arm as he stood for a second time before Morgana's chambers, stating his business in broken sentences and pushing hurriedly through the thick wooden door, shoving it closed behind him with a sigh.

As he turned, his eyes fell on the Lady Morgana sitting vacant on the edge of her bed. There was the sign of recent tears upon her cheek but her eyes were now empty and void of emotion, her pale skin near translucent in the early morning light. Gwen sat by her side, their hands inter-twined upon Morgana's lap, her eyes staring in desperate anguish at her mistress, worry and fear etched deep into her brow.

Morgana's room had been empty when she had reported for duty that morning and Gwen had been getting slightly anxious at her mistress's absence, when Arthur had led a distraught Morgana in and left her in her care. She had babbled incoherently for a time about a sorcerer woman and a scrap of red material while pulling at her riding clothes as if they were suffocating her. Gwen had hurriedly helped her out of the tunic and riding slacks and into the gown that she had already laid out for her. Morgana had refused to speak and fussed at her dresser until she was satisfied with her appearance and then had slumped down onto her bed as if all the power had gone out of her.

It had not yet been an hour since the King's proclamation and this was how Merlin found the two women, still sitting on the bed unmoving.

"Merlin," said Gwen in a low voice, tearing her eyes away from her mistress at last, "What's going on? She will not speak."

"You haven't heard?" Merlin asked, walking slowly toward them.

"No, Arthur simply left Morgana in my care and left without a word and Morgana has been muttering something that I cannot make out and now just sits here as you see!"

Merlin took a breath and puffed out his cheeks, letting the air out with a rush, "Uther believes Morgana released the Sorcerer woman, Bhrón from the Dungeon last night and has her concealed somewhere in Camelot," He replied, his words tumbling out all at once.

"That's absurd!" exclaimed Gwen, looking to Morgana for confirmation, "…isn't it?"

Morgana said nothing, just continued to stare listlessly into the middle-distance.

"Well she is not in the Dungeons so that must be a good sign…" Gwen trailed off as she saw Merlin shake his head slowly, "It's _not_ a good sign? Wait – Merlin why are you here?"

"Ah…well Uther requested that Gaius be here to tend to Morgana after she is… after they…"

"Whip me," finished Morgana, her eyebrows lifting in shock as if surprised to hear her own voice utter those words.

A heavy silence filled the air as Gwen gaped in horror at Morgana, her fingers tightening their grip around her mistress's in disbelief.

"Gaius… Gaius is still out in the far reaching villages running tests on their water," Merlin explained, "He wanted to ensure that Bhrón did not tamper with their wells also… so…" Merlin spread his arms, palms out, indicating that he was there in Gaius's stead.

"So it's true… Uther would have her… whipped?" repeated Gwen, her nostrils flaring in anger that her mistress… her friend, would be so harmed, "We must do something!"

"That's why I'm here," said Merlin, kneeling down before Morgana and retrieving a small vial from the bag he had been carrying.

Merlin reached up and gently placed his hand on Morgana's arm, shaking her slightly. The King's ward looked at him in surprise, as if seeing him now for the first time.

"Merlin," she said with a watery half-smile, "I did not do this – you must believe me."

Searching her face for a few moments, Merlin nodded his head, satisfied that she spoke the truth, "I believe you milady; please you must drink this."

Pulling her right hand free from Gwen's fretful grip, he pressed the vial into her palm. It was a plain glass bottle with no markings and the fluid inside was pale brown in colour.

Morgana looked up at Merlin in confusion, "What is it?"

"It's a concoction Gaius prepared, you must drink it down now and it will help to dull any pain that you feel."

She hesitated for a second; looking distrustfully at the mixture, before nodding her head in agreement. Anything to help at this point would be readily accepted. Morgana pulled out the cork stopper from the vial and lifted the bottle to her lips, throwing back her head and swallowing down the thick brown liquid.

"Oh, that's foul!" she exclaimed, screwing her face up in disgust and passing the now empty bottle back to Merlin.

"Is there nothing else that we can do?" implored Gwen, taking Morgana's hands in her own once more as Merlin tucked the bottle back into his bag.

Morgana shook her head firmly, "I will not have you risk your necks to save my skin."

The thud of heavy footsteps sounded down the hall and all three turned in unison toward the door. Merlin rose to his feet and stepped back from the bed to a respectful distance as the sound grew louder. Both Morgana and Gwen visibly flinched as the door was flung open by the guard.

Uther marched into the room purposefully; his features hard and set in determination. Following closely behind him were three senior court officials accompanied by their Ladies, dressed regally in their best finery looking with distaste at Morgana and her maidservant. Arthur brought up the rear of the party, with Sir Llewellyn - the Master of the Guard, walking stiffly beside him.

Morgana and Gwen rose to their feet as the crowd entered the chambers and Morgana stepped forward into the centre of the room to face her guardian, clasping her hands loosely at her waist. She looked slowly at each of the faces that stared back at her accusingly and turned at last to her King with a wry smile on her face.

"Such an audience?" she asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly, before setting her face firmly once more.

"You have betrayed me publicly," snapped Uther in reply, "be glad I did not have you dragged into the square and publicly flogged."

Morgana clenched her jaw at this rebuttal and bit back the scathing reply that burned in her throat.

"Let's get this over with," Uther continued with contempt, "Guinevere, attend to your mistress."

Gwen looked to Morgana, stricken with panic at the thought that she would be forced to aid the proceedings. Morgana however simply inclined her head to her friend and maidservant, imperceptibly nodding her acceptance that Gwen do as the King commanded. She did not want Uther's wrath directing itself at Gwen if she failed to obey him.

Gwen stepped forward nervously and helped Morgana unfasten the tie at her bosom that held her outer gown in place. She slipped the thin green coloured gauze off of her shoulders, carefully folding the material and laying it over the chair at Morgana's dresser.

All this time Morgana had stared unflinchingly into the cold steel of Uther's unforgiving eyes, refusing to be cowed into submission and tremble before his reproachful gaze. Breaking that contact now she turned without a word and walked slowly over to the foot of her four poster bed. A cushion had been placed at the base of the right-hand post and she smiled ironically to herself. How odd that her comfort should be catered for when in just a few moments she was sure to be in agony.

Smoothing out her dress, Morgana knelt down onto the cushion, arranging the folds of her gown around her. Gwen stepped quietly up behind her and gently lifted her long raven-black hair, gathering the thick waves together and sweeping them over her left shoulder out of the way. Then, with trembling fingers she began unfastening the back of her mistress's bodice. That done she carefully pushed the material slightly down over her shoulders, fully exposing the pale white, unblemished skin of Morgana's back.

"Forgive me My Lady," she whispered as she stepped back and took up her place next to Merlin at the side of the room. For an instant she found Arthur's eyes and looked at him imploringly, but he refused to hold her gaze and stared down at his feet, his chiselled jaw clenching and unclenching as he battled with his burning conscience.

Morgana looked briefly over her shoulder and smiled what she hoped was a look of reassurance to her maid before turning back to Uther who had now come forward to take centre stage in the tight semi-circle of on-lookers.

"For your repeated disobedience and betrayal in aiding a known criminal and sorcerer," he declared, "and in defiance of the law of this realm, it is my judgement that you shall receive ten strokes of the whip."

The Master of the Guard took Uther's place before Morgana and unfurled a three foot length of rope, braided tightly together and bound at the end with a length of strong brown leather to form the stout handle of the whip.

With a deep breath Morgana lifted herself up onto her knees and wrapped her arms around the thick wooden bedpost, curling her fingers into the material tied to it. Resting her head against its cool, rounded surface she closed her eyes and readied herself.

She heard rather than felt the first blow, the whistle of the whip ringing out clearly in the hushed room. The force of the impact left her numb with shock and it took a moment for her senses to catch up with her, by which time the whip was racing through the air again. This time the sheer magnitude of the pain overwhelmed her as the rope bit cruelly into the flesh of her back forcing the breath out of her lungs and ripping an anguished cry of agony from her lips.

Gwen could not bear to look on any longer and buried her head into Merlin's shoulder, silent tears coursing into his red neckerchief as he put his arm protectively around her. Morgana clung desperately to the bedpost determined to retain some dignity in the face of this humiliation. She braced herself against the post and pressed her face into the wood in an attempt to keep herself upright as the third stroke found its mark leaving another angry red welt to match the first two, in stark contrast to her white skin.

But now she felt something different, something ancient and yet still new and untamed. Something that she felt she had always known and simply forgotten, building slowly deep inside of her. It was like a fire gradually increasing and Morgana was caught off guard by the fifth and sixth strokes that seared into her skin, letting out a desperate cry of pain as she screwed her eyes shut and frantically tried to quell this newfound power throbbing at her very core.

Taking in another deep breath Morgana wrapped her teeth around her forearm, biting down on her own flesh to try and hold in her agony and hold back this frightening new energy. Unbeknownst to her, her eyes glowed from pale green to a bright golden behind her eyelids as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Thankfully, no one but Merlin noticed the candle in the far corner behind the crowd of onlookers spontaneously catch light and snuff out repeatedly, the flame reaching high up toward the ceiling with a fierce intensity and then going dead over and over again. He stared in wonder at the King's ward. This was a little more than visions. This was a fast growing power that neither he nor Gaius had anticipated. Keeping Gwen firmly nestled into his collar bone, he focused on the candle over the top of her head, his own eyes glowing golden for an instant as the once roaring flame was extinguished for good.

This power frightened Morgana for she feared what it truly was… magic in its rawest form. To be accused now of witchery would surely mean the executioners block and her rocky relationship with the King would do nothing for her.

Focusing only on the nucleus of intense energy inside of her, Morgana steeled herself for the coming blows, using the burning force to absorb the pain that raced like fire across her back. One last strangled whimper of agony forced its way out of her throat as the tenth and final blow cut deep into her senses and then finally, it was over.

Small red half-moons where her teeth had dug in showed visibly on her skin as her arm slipped from between her lips and she was at last able to loosen her grip on the post. Sinking gratefully to the floor, Morgana spread her hands out on the cold flag-stones, breathing deep lungfuls of air in an attempt to regain her composure. Dimly aware of the sound of sobbing, she desperately tried to quieten herself, before she realised that it was not her - it was Gwen. Her maid stood supported in Merlin's arms, one hand clamped over her mouth to silence her sounds of distress for her mistress, willing Morgana's pain to vanish with her eyes.

Yet still Uther gave no command for his Ward to rise and an anxious silence weighed heavily on the room…

*****


	7. Reprieve

_**Chapter 7: Reprieve **_

Time itself held it's breath as all eyes fell to Uther Pendragon, waiting for his confirmation that the punishment was concluded. Waiting for his word to release them from this spectacle.

Waiting for an absolution that would not come.

Unable to hold back any longer, Arthur stepped out from beside his Father and hurried forward to support Morgana and help her to the bed, guilt and remorse stamped into his features.

"Wait!" commanded the King, stopping Arthur abruptly in his tracks.

Uther slowly walked passed his son and lowered himself onto his right knee in front of his erstwhile daughter. Reaching out he took hold of her chin and slowly raised her head until Morgana looked him in the eye. Her dark hair fell in tangled strands over her face, her eyes red and bloodshot from the effort of keeping the raging newfound force hidden inside and her whole body was trembling from exhaustion.

"Are you now ready to tell me where you have hidden the Sorcerer?" the King asked calmly.

Gwen, Merlin and Arthur exchanged worried looks, unsure at this new turn of events. Surely the King would not press her yet further?

Shaking visibly, Morgana looked at Uther in abject horror and disbelief, "You still think that I am lying to you?"

Releasing her, Uther rose once more to his feet looking down at her in disgust, "So – you would _still_ defy me?"

Morgana raised her head painfully to stare fully at her guardian, her lips trembling with anger, "I tell you I don't know _anything!_" she cried vehemently.

With a cry of rage, Uther turned to Morgana's dresser and impetuously swept everything onto the floor. A large gilded mirror toppled from its stand and exploded noisily onto the flag-stones sending shards of glass spinning in all directions. For Merlin, that moment lasted what felt like an eternity. As the mirror plummeted down to the floor, revolving on its own axis, Merlin was sure that he saw the likeness of a face deep in the shadows of the room reflected back at him. Merlin bent his head forward and concentrated on the shiny surface, even as the mirror impacted and the surface buckled and shattered into a thousand pieces. His eyes fell on one particular shard and without pausing for thought Merlin's bright blue eyes flashed gold as he commanded it to remain in place. There, half hidden by the heavy velvet drapes at the window and staring intently at the crumpled figure of Morgana were the unmistakeable features of a red haired woman. Releasing the small sliver of glass, Merlin swung his head round to the area that the woman had been but he could see nothing but dust and shadows. Surely he could not have been mistaken… he had seen a face he was sure of it.

Uther stood with his back to the room, hands flexing angrily at his sides as Morgana sat swaying slightly on the cold stone floor, her body near the edge of breakdown.

"You WILL answer me," ordered Uther coldly.

"I _have_ answered you…" said Morgana weakly, her voice breaking as she spoke, "What do you want me to say?"

Uther turned to regard his Ward once more, seeming to weigh different options in his mind before finally nodding slowly.

"Very well," he said at last, clasping his hands tightly behind his back.

Gwen let out a sigh of relief at these words, surely then the King was satisfied? Arthur gave Merlin a troubled look… he knew his Father better.

"You obviously have not learned your lesson child, so we shall begin again. Guards, bind her hands to the post."

"_No!_" cried Gwen in horror, moving forward to throw herself in front of her mistress, only to be held back by Merlin looking nervously at the King.

"Father you can't!" exclaimed Arthur at the same time, finding his voice at last and moving quickly to confront his Father, even as the two guards stepped forward to carry out the King's command.

Morgana let out a plaintive cry as she was seized roughly by the guards and pulled back up against the bedpost. Her arms were stretched high above her head and her hands bound tightly to the post, securing her in place. Without an ounce of strength left, Morgana simply hung there helplessly, her trembling hands quickly losing feeling as the ropes dug mercilessly into her wrists. Her vision swam as she struggled to maintain consciousness and fight the rising wave of darkness that threatened to envelope her.

"I warn you, do not fight me on this Arthur," growled Uther menacingly, "I _will_ find the answers I'm looking for."

"And none want those answers more than I," agreed Arthur, seeking desperately to placate the King, "But I do not believe this to be an effective method, Morgana cannot take much more of this and then the answers that we seek will be lost anyway… if she does indeed have them."

Uther pursed his lips, looking slowly at his Son, "You believe that she does not?"

"Morgana has betrayed you in the past it is true but when she was discovered she openly owned up to her crimes," replied Arthur, desperately grasping at straws, "She is not one to cower from the consequences of her actions. I believe that if she were guilty she would have confessed it to us by now, even if she still refused to give up the woman."

The vein in Uther's temple pulsed feverishly as he struggled to fit this new theory into the confines of his judgement, "That still does not explain the cold hard evidence that has been stacked up against her."

"No it does not and you had no choice but to take the action you have, however I believe there is a possibility… that magic may be involved," answered Arthur carefully, consciously not contradicting his Father, especially before an audience.

"Do not allow sentimentality to blind you my Son;" said Uther scornfully, "Magic is an easy scapegoat."

"No Father," said Arthur tentatively, "It is merely that others before now have used magic to twist events to their advantage. What if that is the case now?"

"What possible advantage would that woman have to gain in making us believe Morgana released her from the dungeon?"

"It would buy her time Sire; if we are interrogating Morgana then we are not searching for her directly. Who better to frame than the King's own Ward?"

Sir Llewellyn shifted expectantly before them; whip in hand at the ready awaiting his final command. Uther's eyes flicked from his Son to his Ward hanging pitifully before him and Arthur saw the first signs of doubt take root and sprout in the King's expression.

"You truly believe that magic may be involved?" asked Uther.

There! Merlin, was sure he heard a low hiss coming from somewhere amongst the shadows of the room but, try as he might, he could see no sign of any creature. Gwen gave him a puzzled look as he continued to peer, openly perplexed, at the curtains.

"I do Sire," confirmed Arthur, eager to take advantage of his Father's wavering resolve, "My Knights are following a number of leads as we speak."

"And you felt no need to mention this until now?" demanded Uther, his annoyance mounting.

"I had nothing definite Sire and like you, I believed the seemingly irrefutable evidence that pointed to Morgana having a part in this. Now however I must ask for time to conduct my investigations."

Again a flash of uncertainty passed across Uther's face and Arthur leaned forward, speaking in a low voice to his Father to drive his point home with one final push, "You have always been a just ruler Father. If there is just one small shred of possibility that Morgana is not to blame then I trust that you will grant her clemency."

Uther looked at his Son searchingly as he weighed up his options. On the one hand, he had evidence that Morgana had betrayed him and not only that, she may have the information he needed to re-capture the sorcerer woman. The thought of one of_ their_ kind roaming free in his beloved Camelot even now made his blood boil. On the other hand however… if Morgana was innocent in this and enchanted trickery was at the root of this whole unpleasant business, then he would never forgive himself for punishing her further. What she had received so far was done and none could say it was unjustified… but he would allow Arthur's men to carry out their investigations before he pressed her further for answers. The gates of Camelot were locked after all, no one was going anywhere.

"I want you to report to me as soon as your men bring news," said the King at last, sweeping past Arthur toward the door and signalling to the other members of the court to depart.

"Yes Father," agreed Arthur, his voice strong with confidence as he watched Uther leave the chambers without as much as a second glance at his Ward.

Gwen rushed to Morgana's side, gently taking her head in her hands and crying out for help to release her mistress from her binds.

"Sir Llewellyn you are dismissed," said Arthur curtly as he covered the distance to Morgana in two strides, removing a small blade from his doublet as he went and throwing it deftly to Merlin.

"She's barely conscious," Gwen whispered anxiously as Merlin began cutting through the tight cords that bound Morgana's wrists.

Arthur dropped quickly to his knees; carefully put his arm underneath Morgana and gripped her gently around her waist, mindful of her bloodied back. With a loud snap Merlin broke through the bindings with the blade and her arms fell limply to her sides, her head lolling onto Arthur's shoulder as she sank lifelessly into his arms. Rising awkwardly he motioned for Merlin to take her feet and together they lifted the inert form of the Lady Morgana onto the bed, laying her face down on the coverlet.

Gwen clasped Morgana's limp hand in her own and carefully moved her hair out of her eyes, gently shaking her hand in an attempt to rouse her. Morgana's brow creased as she once more became aware of her surroundings and the pain of her back crept into the recesses of her mind, dragging her pitilessly into wakefulness once more.

"She's stirring!" Gwen cried as Morgana groaned hoarsely beside her, "Can you hear me? …Morgana?"

"Is it over?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Gwen squeezed her hand reassuringly, "Yes my Lady. It's over."

Morgana's entire body seemed to sag visibly in relief at this as she let out a strangled sob, "He did not believe me! Why did he not believe me Gwen?"

"I don't know," said Gwen helplessly, shaking her head in bewilderment.

"You believe me… don't you?"

"Hush now, of course I believe you," answered Gwen soothingly, "you must not trouble yourself with these things now, Arthur's men will find out the truth don't worry."

Morgana sank back onto the bed with a sigh, her hollow eyes closing briefly at the exertion of her outburst.

Arthur turned away at these words with a troubled look on his face. His lie to his Father may have bought them a few hours reprieve, a day at best. But would it be enough?

*****


	8. Bind Up the Broken

_**Chapter 8: Bind up the Broken**_

No matter how Arthur looked at it he had painted himself into a corner. Even if Morgana were innocent it meant nothing without proof and now the full weight of the responsibility of finding that proof rested on his shoulders. He had knowingly pitted himself against his Father to protect Morgana and if he found out that he had lied… he would be able to protect no one, least of all himself.

Arthur looked dolefully at the pitiful form of the woman he had come to see as a sister lying on the bed, Gwen gently stroking her hair in an attempt to comfort her weak and broken mistress. His eyes then fell on Merlin who was staring vacantly into the far corner of the room, a look of utmost confusion on his face.

"Don't just stand there Merlin, do something for pity's sake!" Arthur ordered in exasperation, gesturing toward Morgana.

Snapping back to attention, Merlin ran at once to the bag he had carried with him from Gaius' private workroom and extracted a glass vial, an assortment of herbs and a small pestle and mortar. Emptying a little bag of green chamomilla pods into the mortar, he began grinding and pounding them into a fine dust, under the watchful eye of the Prince. Merlin then took the basin from Morgana's wash stand and began mixing the powder in with a tincture of camphor, aloe and white willow bark to form a resinous paste.

"I think I need some warm water," he said frowning at the herbs in front of him.

"You _think_?" exclaimed Arthur, "Don't you know what you need?"

"No I… I mean yes I do need some warm water; otherwise these herbs won't bind together… I'm pretty sure… No I _am_ sure it's just, I've never done this before."

"You don't say."

"I usually just… well, pass things to Gaius."

"Merlin your peculiar level of incompetence continues to astound me every day," grumbled Arthur as he walked briskly over to the door and commanded the guard to send word to the kitchen to send up some warm water immediately.

With Arthur's back turned for those few seconds, Merlin quickly passed his hand over the smooth paste in the bowl, watching as the exothermic reaction changed the mixture from a pale green, to a shade of deep ochre as it cooled. As Arthur once more approached to scrutinise his manservant-come-physician's progress, Merlin neatly dropped a cloth over the bowl and instead, busied himself with finely chopping up sorrel leaves, ignoring his master's impatient glares.

Incompetent indeed… if only he knew.

With the arrival of the water, brought to them in record time by a very timid looking waif of a kitchen girl, Merlin gave Gwen the job of carefully cleaning Morgana's wounds. The King's Ward made no sound as Gwen gingerly dabbed at the ugly marks on her back, her eyes screwed firmly shut against the pain.

Taking a small amount of the water himself, Merlin now added the sorrel leaves and herbs to the paste he had prepared and made a thick, earthy poultice. Satisfied that even Gaius could not fault his handiwork, he carried the mixture over to Morgana and relieved Gwen of her task.

"Morgana, I must dress your wounds," said Merlin in a low voice as Gwen stepped back to allow him space by Morgana's side, "I'll be as gentle as I can but it may feel uncomfortable at first."

Morgana simply nodded her head in acceptance and curled her fingers into the coverlet, readying herself for the worst.

Merlin scooped up a portion of the poultice and carefully began laying it onto the raw skin of Morgana's back with his fingers. Sucking in her breath sharply, she arched her back away from his touch as her nerves screamed in protest.

"Careful Merlin!" chided Arthur sternly, feeling completely impotent in his inability to help in any practical way.

"It's okay," Morgana assured him, her breathing slowly returning to normal as the pain subsided and the poultice began to take effect, "It's helping, the pain is easing."

A cooling sensation began to creep across the surface of her back, settling into her senses and numbing the raw pain she had felt until now. Morgana relaxed her grip on the covers and let out a rush of air as Merlin continued to apply the mixture, working it ever so gently into the open wounds that criss-crossed her flesh and over every inch of red and tender skin until not one part of her back remained exposed.

Gwen and Arthur stood side by side watching Merlin work. Without taking her eyes from her mistress, Gwen spoke quietly to the Prince, her voice barely raised above a whisper.

"Are your men truly following leads?" she asked.

Arthur glanced sideways at her, his lips pressed into a grim line as he looked intently at her, wishing he had a different answer to give.

"No," he muttered simply, hanging his head in defeat and turning back to watch Merlin helplessly once more.

Unfolding a small sheet of muslin, Merlin carefully draped it over the full length of Morgana's back, pressing it softly onto the poultice to hold it in place. Gathering up the blanket that lay across the foot of the bed, Merlin then drew it up over her, tucking it gently around her body, taking heed not to disturb the bandages.

Putting his hand carefully on her shoulder, Merlin knelt down by Morgana's side, "The compress that I've applied will help your back to heal," he said, rubbing her shoulder reassuringly, "But you must try and sleep now, we'll watch over you don't worry."

"Thank you Merlin," she replied, smiling weakly at him as she twisted her fingers round to pat his hand in return, "The pain has almost gone; it is such a blessed relief…" Her words drifted as she at last allowed herself to ease into a much needed slumber, her hand dropping back onto the bed in exhaustion.

"Your safe now," he whispered into her unhearing ear, staring at her a moment longer as he thought back to the candle that he had witnessed her light with her mind. He wasn't sure just how safe she would ever be in Camelot if her powers continued to grow and she was unable to control them…

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts Merlin rose to his feet and went to speak with Arthur and Gwen; there were other far more pressing matters to deal with, Morgana's magic would have to wait.

"So what's the plan?" he asked, looking expectantly at Arthur.

"There _is _no plan you dolt!" hissed Arthur in a loud whisper, grabbing Merlin by the scruff of his neck and propelling him away from Morgana's bedside in case she hear his confession. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more distress.

"She can't hear you!" exclaimed a disgruntled Merlin, pushing Arthur off him and rubbing at his neck in annoyance, "I put a sedative in the poultice to help her sleep; she should be out until morning… and what do you mean there is no plan? You said your men had leads!"

"I know what I said Merlin, that doesn't make it true," replied Arthur grimly.

"It was a ruse, designed to appease the King and buy Morgana some time," explained Gwen, stepping in between the two men.

Comprehension dawned on Merlin's face as he realised that the brief glimpse of a figure he had seen in the room may be their only clue to go on. And it was a hazy clue at best.

"We may have to try and get Morgana safely out of Camelot until this whole mess is cleared up," said Arthur, trying desperately to come up with a Plan B or a Plan C and failing miserably.

"Wait… I do think that magic may be involved!" Merlin blurted out, his eyes wide with conviction.

"Weren't you listening Merlin?" asked Arthur incredulously, "It was a _ruse_… I made the whole magic thing up because I knew that that was the one thing that my Father…"

"No, I'm serious! When Uther threw the mirror to the ground I'm positive I saw a figure hiding in the shadows."

"You saw a figure in this room and you saw no need to bring that to anyone's attention?" asked Arthur flatly.

"It was just a glimpse really; it was gone again a moment later."

"Is _that_ what you were looking at over by the drapes at the window?" asked Gwen, turning herself to peer at the shadows as if even now someone may jump out from their depths.

"Yes, I saw it reflected in the mirror and then when I turned to look again there was nothing there, but I am sure that…"

"Wait, how on Earth did you manage to see anything in the mirror?" demanded Arthur, "It was broken into a thousand pieces!"

Merlin stopped mid-sentence and tilted his head to the side, his eyes widening as he realised his mistake, "Right… no, well obviously the pieces were small but um… one of the larger pieces fell against the wall at just the right… angle… here, see?" he babbled, indicating the shard of polished glass in question, "And I saw… a woman."

"A woman," repeated Arthur.

"Yes."

"In the mirror."

"Yes."

"For no more than an instant."

"…well, no."

"Brilliant, just brilliant Merlin, all of our hopes rest on your flimsy sighting of a mysterious female figure in a tiny scrap of glass. Brilliant."

"It's better than nothing," Gwen reminded him, rubbing her arms as a sudden chill washed over her, "It could very well have been the sorceress Morgana is supposed to have freed."

"Fine," said Arthur begrudgingly, "Merlin, you speak to Geoffrey and see if any of the old archives speak of a people that can hide in the shadows… I'll have my Knights make enquiries of some of the senior members of court that were advisors before magic was outlawed; perhaps they remember a group of sorcerers with these abilities. At least then we'll know who we're dealing with."

Merlin nodded hurriedly at these orders, already racing to the door to be on his way.

"And Merlin…" Arthur added, stopping him in his tracks, "Both Morgana and I are relying on the accuracy of your account… you'd better be right."

"Yes Sire," he replied, smiling nervously before turning on his heel and continuing on his way.

Arthur turned to Gwen as he too made to leave, "Watch over Morgana," he said before adding quietly, "And pack a few of her essential possessions into a small carry sack, we may still have to think about taking her into hiding before the day is over."

Gwen nodded grimly in agreement, once again rubbing her hands up and down her arms as a chill ran through her bones.

Merlin ran headlong down the passageway and sprinted down the stone staircase. Slowing quickly to a stealthy walk, he crept easily passed the two guards and stole silently down the dank steps and into the bowels of Camelot, removing a torch from it's sconce as he went. He would go to Geoffrey and search the archives but first, he had a living library of all things magical to consult…

*****


	9. The Best Laid Plans

_**Chapter 9: The best laid plans**_

Lady Morgana had magic…

The realisation of what she was witnessing dawned gradually on Lamrieth. There, under the bite of the lash and the hard glare of the King of Camelot, was the birth of something truly beautiful.

She already had a feeling about Morgana which had tugged at the very fringe of her perception, something she had not quite been able to put her finger on that night in her chambers as she had watched her sleep. Now however, she saw a small glimmer of light flicker deep within her soul; a fragile flame that dwindled for an instant before roaring into life.

Lamrieth's eyes widened in surprise as she watched the power within Morgana grow at an alarming rate, fuelled by the agony she suffered. Glorious orange waves rolled outwards from her body, shooting brilliantly from her eyes, her mouth, her fingertips, until every pore was awash with light. What was hidden from the world of flesh and bone was laid bare before Lamrieth in her world of shadow and she marvelled at the exquisite splendour of this pure and unadulterated radiance.

As another stroke was branded into Morgana's back the force of the blow drilled down into the centre of her being, feeding once again that pulsing nucleus of energy. But it was clearly too much too soon as Morgana became engulfed by the inferno of her own power and it began reaching out exponentially with fierce intensity.

How events then unfolded were still a mystery to Lamrieth, as somehow she saw the Lady Morgana reign in the forces of her power, even as the limit of her physical strength was reached. So absorbed was she with this impressive feat that her attention drifted for the briefest of instants and the edges of her shadowy form blurred into reality. With a start she noticed the boy stood silently behind Prince Arthur, the one with the bright sapphire eyes that had first drawn her eye in the courtroom. Too late she saw him searching the glassy shards of mirror as they fell like rain across the cold stone floor and too late she realised that those blue eyes were now staring directly at her.

Cursing her mistake she retreated once more into the safety of the shadow realm and frantically reassessed her situation.

Morgana was her kin, her fellow sorceress. It would be unthinkable to continue with her original plan now; she had already put the younger woman in much danger exposing her to scrutiny by such an audience at so delicate a moment. What of the Son? To draw him into her designs now, ahead of schedule, would run the risk of causing suspicions to be raised. Lamrieth let her eyes rest longingly on Arthur for an instant, willing herself to proceed as intended… But watching him come to Morgana's defence so valiantly soon dissuaded her. It appeared that both of the younger members of the royal family did not see eye to eye with the King. She had meant her actions to cause deep rifts within the royal household and then planned to watch Uther's hatred, bitterness and jealously eat him up from the inside out. She had planned to enjoy watching Uther's downfall and revel in his pain and misery, savouring each tiny morsel of his suffering and she could feel that slipping slowly away. And it was killing her.

With a hiss of frustration and contempt, Lamrieth rushed from Morgana's chambers in a flurry of wind and darkness and sped down the castle steps, through the many cracks and crevices of Camelot's foundations and into the catacombs of the city. There was one other beast in Camelot with perhaps as much hatred for Uther as herself and it was his council that she now sought out… The Great Dragon Kilgharrah.

Lamrieth paused for a moment on the brink of both worlds and watched the mighty creature closely. She watched his pupils contract to tiny points and his breathing quicken as his long black tongue tasted the cold air around him in anticipation.

"Show yourself Scáthan," the Dragon commanded, "You cannot hide your presence from me."

Lamrieth stepped cautiously from the shadows in compliance, her ice blue eyes shining out from beneath her dark, swirling cloak.

"So young darkling, you have come before me at last," he smiled with a sly grin.

"You know me?" Lamrieth asked apprehensively, drawing her cloak around her against the chill of the cavern.

"Of course I know you child," laughed the Dragon, "You are the daughter of Skoll of the house of Derrwyn, King of the Scáthans, which would naturally make you Lamrieth… or should I say - Queen Lamrieth."

"I am no Queen," she retorted, narrowing her eyes at this remark.

"Your bloodline would disagree I am afraid but that is not the issue here," he continued, lazily waving away the topic, "Tell me, why did you not come to me at once when you first arrived in Camelot?"

"Old habits," she replied without hesitation, "You are _Y Ddraig Fawr_… The Great Dragon; you have always been known to my people as Drakon Kilgharrah, the sharp-eyed one. You know there has never been trust between our kinds and I had no way of knowing that I could put faith in your words."

The Dragon lowered it's mighty head down to look Lamrieth in the eye, "So what has changed?"

"Now we have a common enemy. Uther."

"Yes that may be true," agreed the Dragon rising back up to his full height to stare disdainfully down at the young woman before him, "However that does not alter the fact that your actions may have jeopardised all of our futures."

"How so?" Lamrieth asked in alarm.

"What do you know of the old prophesies?"

"I know a little of the ancient tales," she said, before adding begrudgingly, "Though many of the legends were lost to my people after we were forced into hiding in the shadow lands."

"Then let me enlighten you young Scáthan. There is an account that speaks of a certain Prince that is destined to become King of Camelot and unite Albion at last; the Prince's reign will see Magic return to the land and peace become abundant. All these things must come about with the aid of a young warlock. Emrys."

"Emrys…" she breathed as recognition dawned on her face at this old and illustrious name, realising with a jolt that this was in fact Merlin, "And the Prince you speak of… this is Arthur?"

"It is; however the path they walk together is intricate and must be guided accordingly. Your attempt to divide the royal household may soon have undone the steps that have been made so far."

"And what of the Lady Morgana? What part does she play in these prophesies?"

The Great Dragon whipped his head round to stare intently at Lamrieth, scrutinising her sleight frame in the dim light, "You must not trust the witch," he barked forcefully, taking her by surprise, "Do not be fooled, her heart is dark and her course is marked. It cannot be altered."

An inexplicable sense of sadness washed over her at this new piece of information. Lamrieth had seen so much strength and power in the King's Ward; she had witnessed her initial passage into womanhood as a fully fledges enchantress and she had also seen how deeply her companions cared for her. It was a painful thing to imagine evil flowing in her royal veins.

"Very well Dragon, I will listen to your council," she said quietly, "but I assure you, the memory of my Father _will_ be avenged."

"I do not doubt it; the Scáthan's allegiance with Camelot may have made us enemies in the past but even I knew your Father to be a good and virtuous man who did not deserve a traitor's death."

"It means a lot to me and my people to hear you speak such words Kilgharrah," she replied, lowering her head in acknowledgment, "How would you have me proceed?"

"If you continue with your current plan you will surely make an enemy of Arthur and he will distrust the use of Magic just like his Father," the Dragon revealed, "This will, in turn, make it impossible for the warlock Emrys to take his place as advisor and protector to the throne of the future King and all will be lost."

"What must I do to prevent this from happening?"

"You have something of far greater power than magic that you can use to your advantage… Truth."

"I do not follow."

"At this moment Arthur is searching for information about your people and what motive you could have for implicating Morgana in your escape. Go to him, tell him how Uther butchered your Father and massacred your race. Show him that in this instance, magic is not the enemy… Uther is."

"And you think that the Prince will listen to me?"

"I think perhaps that a more subtle guise would better suit you in this instance."

"What do you suggest?"

The Dragon Kilgharrah appraised the Scáthan woman coolly, his tail slowly flicking back and forth in contemplation, "That I cannot help you with, although I'm sure that with your resourcefulness you will think of something."

"Very well."

"And now you must be gone, for even now Emrys is approaching to demand my help in locating you."

"What will you tell him?" asked Lamrieth, fearfully looking over her shoulder toward the roughly hewn entryway carved into the stone face, where the first signs of torch light could now be seen.

"Only what he needs to know…" breathed the Dragon, settling down across his rocky outcrop.

"Of course," said Lamrieth with a curt not of her head, "Farewell Drakon Kilgharrah."

"Oh and Lamrieth?" called the Dragon sweetly, "One thing I must be absolutely clear on…"

The Scáthan woman paused and turned slowly to face the great beast.

"Morgana _must_ be implicated in your plot when you reveal it to Arthur, do you understand?"

"Yes Lizard," she replied, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice, "I understand perfectly."

*****


	10. Revelations

_**Chapter 10: Revelations**_

Merlin raced down the last of the steps that led to the great cavern, straining his ears over the sound of his own footsteps. He could have sworn that he had heard voices a few moments ago… but that was absurd.

Skidding to a halt on the edge of the precipice ledge, Merlin held his torch aloft and panted heavily, staring across the gaping void at the towering form of the Dragon. The ancient reptile appeared to taste the air as it sat perched upon its platform of rock, eyes darting quickly back and forth.

Merlin passed his hand across his mouth, finally regaining enough breath to speak, "I need your help!" he shouted.

The Dragon made no reply to this plea, nor even gave an indication that he acknowledged Merlin's presence; he simply continued to flick his tongue out into the air and sniff the cool cavernous space tentatively.

"What are you doing?" the young apprentice questioned.

"There was a bad smell in the air," the Dragon replied matter-of-factly, turning at last to face him, "But it is no matter young Warlock, it has gone now."

With that the great beast heaved himself up and with an almighty rattling of chains, unfurled his majestic wings and made to fly off into the depths of darkness.

"Wait!" cried Merlin in alarm as if his very voice could reach out and pull the Dragon back to him, "You can't leave, I need your help!"

"Yes, yes, yes…" sighed the Dragon, lowering his wings but not turning around again, "There is always some dire emergency that requires my help… and yet… you have given me nothing in return."

"What is it you want?" he asked in exasperation, staring around the bare rock walls of the catacomb in bewilderment. Then his eyes suddenly lit up as a thought struck him, "What about food? I could bring you some…wait…" he paused, taking a second look around the cavern, "What _do_ you eat down here?"

A wry smile spread across the Dragon's reptilian features, revealing two rows of razor sharp teeth as he began to chuckle loudly, "I believe, child, that it would greatly harm your… susceptibilities if I answered that question. Never fear, Uther provides more than moderately for my needs."

"…Then what DO you want?" Merlin asked in frustration, eager to obtain any information he could and chafing at this unnecessary delay.

"What I desire from you cannot be bought or sold, or even held in your hand," he replied in a sombre tone.

A look of confusion passed across Merlin's face, "What is it?"

"It is something of great value to me and yet will cost you nothing," he replied, the insidiousness of his voice going unnoticed by Merlin.

"What? Tell me; what is it you want!"

The Dragon paused for a moment and lowered himself until his eyes were level with those of the young warlock before him, "What I require from you is your word that in helping you now, you will repay me in the future in a manner that I see fit."

"Of course!" cried Merlin without hesitation, "I will do anything I can for you, now please – you must help me!"

Unable to hide the smug tone in his voice, the Great Kilgharrah sighed contentedly and lowered himself once more onto his haunches, "Very well young Warlock, I suppose that the Lady Morgana will not sleep all day."

"You know of her wounds?" asked Merlin, his eyes widening in surprise.

"It seems the walls have ears does it not."

"Then you know of the creature that I saw hiding in the shadows? I believe that they have used magic somehow to incriminate Morgana," he blurted out in a rush, "I must find out who they are and their motives and clear Morgana before it's too late!"

"Merlin… you must remember that with magic, things are often not as they seem. But in this case… things may be _exactly_ as they seem."

"What are you saying… that Morgana's guilty?"

"Simply that the Witch is not to be trusted, her loyalties are… divided."

Merlin raised his torch above his head and pointed it accusingly at the oversized reptile, shaking his head emphatically, "I don't believe you!"

The Dragon let out a resigned sigh and fixed Merlin in a hard glare, "Very well, you may ignore my warnings… but it will be at your own peril."

Merlin shook his head once more as if to force these words out of his ears, "So will you help me?"

The Dragon smiled sardonically at Merlin's impatience, "The people you speak of are an ancient race called the Scáthan. Many moons ago, eons before this realm was formed and the Pendragon dynasty began; these people studied the very essence of their physical makeup."

"The study of anatomy is outlawed!" Merlin protested automatically.

"Their investigations were nothing remotely similar to that most rudimentary of studies," scoffed the Dragon, "The Scáthan were able to use their magic to literally pull apart their physical components into essential elements without breaking that connective spark."

"Wouldn't that have killed them?

The Dragon gave a low chuckle at the boy's naivety, "It is not something learned overnight, it was a study that took generations to master until finally, they were able to shed their physical bodies and slip into what they call 'The Realm of Shadows'."

"I had no idea such creatures even existed!" breather Merlin in awe.

"That is simply because the Scáthan people have been all but wiped out… the 'Mighty' Uther Pendragon saw to that!" said the Dragon in contempt, his long spiked tail whipping back and forth angrily.

"Uther… of course," the young wizard sighed, raising his eyes to the roof of the cavern in despair at Uther's hatred of magic.

"The Scáthan had been allied with Camelot for countless generations; its King's using the Scáthan forces as their eyes and ears…"

Merlin's head snapped back to face the Dragon at this, his jaw hanging open, "They were _allies!_" he exclaimed in shock.

A knowing smile played upon Kilgharrah's scaly lips, "You are _surprised_ at the depths Uther would sink to in order to rid his precious Kingdom of magic?"

Merlin stood motionless for a moment, contemplating the Dragon's words. For Uther to condemn to death sorcerers and druids intent on harming his Kingdom was one thing. To slaughter his own allies… that was quite another.

"Well, I guess we have a motive," he said at last, "Is there any way to expose them? I must clear Morgana's name!"

The great beast contemplated Merlin for a few moments longer before making up his mind and leaning forward once more, "It takes much concentration for the Scáthan to negotiate between our two worlds. To reveal them you must dull their senses."

"How is that possible?"

"Uther lured the entire Scáthan collective into a staged feast in their honour and fed them wine laced with an opiate to confuse the mind…" The Dragon's voice trailed away as he left the implications of this statement hanging in the air, images of a bloody massacre flashing instantly through Merlin's head. He could almost hear the screams and the panic of a helpless people unable to escape, "But as this course of action would be impossible for you," the Dragon continued, "You must _choke_ their senses instead."

"How so?" asked Merlin in a small voice, almost regretting having to expose the creature at all, if it weren't for Morgana's sake.

Kilgharrah smiled mischievously, "You aren't going to like it…"

* * *

Merlin cursed the Dragon for the fifth time, as he waded ankle deep into the filth of the royal equestrian dung heap. He had removed his boots and rolled his breaches up to his knees in an attempt to keep relatively clean but was now regretting that as the feel of rotting manure and pigswill oozed between his toes.

Struggling to the back of the compound and around the full height of the stinking muck beside him, Merlin finally saw what he was looking for; a deep furrow in the ground running along beside the dung heap, filled to the brim with a dark and sinister looking liquid. Crouching down over this misshapen trough, he gagged violently as the stench of ammonia hit his nostrils… the stale and acrid smell of decomposing Urine.

Shaking his head in disbelief at the things he was forced to do in the name of friendship and destiny, Merlin rolled back his left sleeve and gingerly sunk his hand into the fowl waters. Reaching into the deepest pits of the urine, among the straw and detritus, his fingers closed over hard, miniature crystals. Drawing out his hand, Merlin inspected the tiny opaque chunks that lay on his palm, before carefully dropping them into a small drawstring pouch and repeating the process until a sizeable amount sat heavy in the bag.

Fighting his way back out of the mire and retrieving his shoes, Merlin hurried back towards Gaius' work room. The Dragon's instructions had been clear; ordinary dampened wood fire would not smoke quickly enough to entrap the Scáthan woman. Instead he had given him a strange new potion to mix that when lit would smoke rapidly and take her by surprise.

First, he must gather a substance that he had called '_sal petræ_' or stone salt, produced in Urine left to fester among straw for many months. Merlin had thought the Dragon to be playing some form of cruel joke on him until he had seen the crytals with his own eyes.

Lost as he was in his own thoughts and focused on his task in hand, Merlin didn't notice the Prince appraoching until he was almost on top of him.

"Merlin!" Aurther shouted impatiently, "Where have you _been?_ I sent men to the Archives to check on your progress and they said you were not there and Godfrey had not even _seen_ you th-… argh!" Arther gagged and recoiled in horror as the fowl odour that surrounded Merlin hit him full in the face, "You _stink_!"

"Why thank you sire," replied his manservant with a mischevious grin.

"What on Earth happened to you!" Arther exclaimed incredulously.

"Uh… long story."

"Summarise," replied Arthur flatly.

"Um… ok… I found a recipe in the archives that will cause an explosion of smoke and trap the woman I saw so that she cannot escape again… but it called for some quite… unusual ingredients."

"Excrement?!"

"No… Urine crystals," Merlin replied innocently.

"Urine crystals," Arthur repeated in disbelief, "And tell me Merlin, how did you find this recipe if you haven't actually _been_ to the archives?"

"Oh I've been there, I must have just missed Godfrey, you know how he is these days," said Merlin quickly, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated gesture, "He's always nodding off."

"Is he?" said Arthur sceptically, "Well regardless of that… how are you so certain that this smoke mixture will work?"

Merlin thought quickly, "There was a passage logged next the recipe text… it ah… it spoke of unusual creatures that hide in the shadows… this mixture was used to capture them."

Arthur still looked unconvinced as he took another step back and held his arm over his face in revulsion, "Well Merlin, you had better be right. The day is almost spent and my Father will be asking for a report soon. Do whatever you must to make this smoking concoction of yours and meet me back in Morgana's chambers. My Knights and I are still questioning the court officials."

"Yes sire, I'll need to change Morgana's dressings soon anyway," agreed Merlin thankfully, anxious to complete his mission.

"Oh and Merlin… have a bath!"

"Yes sire," he said again, grinning openly now as he hurried down the concourse, his bare feet slipping on the cobbled stones. He ran the recipe through in his head once more and grimly watched the sun as it began to sink behind the battlement walls. There was still much to be done and time was running out.

*****


	11. Stranger in the Night

_**Chapter 11: Stranger in the Night**_

Arthur muttered angrily to himself as he strode along the near empty streets of Camelot. The sun was beginning to set and a strict curfew had been implemented by the King until the fugitive sorcerer was found. Arthur kicked at a loose stone and watched a startled chicken squawk noisily out of his way. He knew he shouldn't have trusted Merlin, he was a total liability; the idiot had been covered in faeces for goodness sake! He had no idea how successful that smoke trap was going to be and so, as always, it fell to him to plan for any contingencies…typical.

Arthur stormed on in the general direction of the Castle and as he rounded a corner he noticed a cloaked figure hunched over by the deserted entry way to the market square.

"You there!" he shouted impatiently, "Don't you know there's a curfew in place? Move along now!" The figure made no move to get up and appeared not to have heard the crown Prince's command, leaving said Prince somewhat irked, "I _said_- get along there!"

Arthur approached the stooped creature and thrust out his arm to chivvy him along, when a hand shot out from beneath the folds of the cloak and gripped him tightly by the wrist. Arthur let out a cry of surprise as the figure rose to an impressive height, lowering its hood as it did so and revealing short cropped dark hair and the rugged features of a man not unaccustomed to labour. His chiselled jaw sported the rough beginnings of a beard, his nose well defined, betraying a mark of nobility while his eyes, blue like ice, shone piercingly in the fading light.

"What is the meaning of this, unhand me at once!" demanded the Prince, struggling ineffectually to free himself.

"My apologies Sire," spoke the stranger calmly, letting go his grip immediately and giving Arthur a small bow of respect, "You must forgive the impropriety of my actions, I have come an hour's journey and must speak to you in private."

Arthur rubbed his aching wrist in annoyance, appraising the man before him sharply, "Well, what is it you were so desperate to tell me?"

"Until ten years ago, my Father was employed in service to the King."

"And…" said Arthur sarcastically.

"More than that," replied the man, unfazed by Arthur's lack of interest, "he was the Captain of the King's personal Guard."

"Sir Henrith was your Father?" laughed the Prince, "That's impossible, his wife was barren! What's your name; I'll have you thrown in the stocks for slander!"

"I did not say that the Lady Evangeline Henrith was my Mother," he replied simply, "and my name is Larken."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise at these words; so good old faithful Henrith had been a bit of an old Dog to boot! The man before him definitely had the look of Henrith about him, and the features of nobility minus the refined clothing… it all fit.

As he realised he had been openly staring, Arthur coughed in embarrassment, "That's all very well but I don't see what that has to do with me. Is it a Knighthood you're after?"

"No Sire," Larken replied with a grim smile, "As the bastard Son to a long retired Captain, I know my place in Camelot; I simply have some information that may prove useful to you."

"Oh?" questioned Arthur, folding his arms in front of him doubtfully.

"My Father ensured my Mother and I had food to eat and a roof over our heads and until my Mother passed away he would come and visit us in our village not far from Camelot when his duties allowed it," he began, watching as Arthur's eyes widened again to hear of Henrith's affairs with his mistress and illegitimate offspring, "I often sat by his feet next to the hearth and listened to his tales of Camelot life. What I've heard of this mysterious sorcerer in Camelot reminded me of the one story my Father would not often tell… I think it shamed him."

"Well, out with it man!" demanded Arthur, his patience growing thin.

"He told me of a people called the Scáthan who were once allied with Camelot, a people that could move at whim in and out of the shadows," Arthur stood bolt upright when he heard this and leaned in closer to Larken, nodding his head encouragingly, "They had been King Uther's closest advisors but now the King despised all things linked to the magic realm and ordered my Father to plan an attack to slaughter them all."

Arthur felt his mouth go dry as he thought of an entire race wiped out; men, women… and children. He knew there had been many lives lost in the purge and he understood his Father's reasons, magic was dangerous and a threat to Camelot… but these people had trusted him.

"What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

"The plan my Father devised earned him a medal of honour… but there was no honour in it," said Larken coldly, his eyes flashing in anger and disgust at his Father, "He simply used a feast that Uther had arranged to ensure that all of the Scáthan people would be in attendance and laced their food and their wine with drugs that caused hallucinations."

Arthur looked up at the dark haired man before him with a puzzled look on his face, "How would that have killed them?"

Larken paused as he tried to find the best way to describe the events of that night in the same way as they had been described to him, "Can you imagine, groups of small children seeing strange and terrifying visions and Mothers unable to see or think clearly enough to find them; Scáthan men stumbling around desperately trying to protect their families, not able to trust the very eyes in their own heads. There was a mass hysteria and they were all as lambs to the slaughter."

"But if they had magic why did they not…"

"Escape? The drugs confused their minds to the point that they could not move to their shadow world; they were slaughtered one by one and their only crime had been to trust in the word of Uther Pendragon when he declared that their alliance was still in place."

"My Father had the Kingdom to think of," Athur counteracted, franticly trying to justify his Father's actions, "Perhaps Henrith neglected to mention a serious threat that these Scáthans posed to Camelot?"

Larken shook his head firmly, "There was no threat; these people had always been loyal. They may have had magic but my experience has taught me that Magic can be used for good just as much as it can for evil… in this case, magic was not the guilty party – Uther was."

"That may be Larken… but in this Kingdom that talk is tantamount to _treason_," hissed Arthur in a hushed tone.

"True," Larken nodded in agreement, "and yet the facts remain the same. My intention was simply to pass on this information to you; but there is yet more. My Father was not entirely successful in his mission."

"That part's obvious if we have one of them in Camelot now, don't you think?" ridiculed Arthur.

Larken nodded once more, Arthur's dry whit lost on him, "The Scáthan were a small race; the skill it took to learn the art of transcending into the Shadow Realm was not always mastered by their children and so it was easy for my Father to convince the King that all had been destroyed."

"And yet some lived?"

"Just five sire."

"And one of these five is now somewhere in Camelot… but why bother to incriminate Morgana? Why not simply attack the King if revenge was their plan?"

"That I cannot help you with… although," Larken paused and looked down to his feet, as if wrestling with some inner conflict. Looking Arthur in the eye once more, his decision obviously made, he added, "It is rumoured that the Scáthan people that survived are extremely distrustful of entering the physical realm once more. They may well have had need of an accomplice."

Arthur gaped at Larken in disbelief, completely taken aback with what he was implying, "You think Morgana could actually have been in league with these Scáthan people? Impossible!"

"I understand your feelings, however does it not make more sense for the plan of vengeance to be to simply poison Camelot's water supply and deal a death blow to its people? Framing Morgana for aiding an escape seems… complicated."

Arthur stood motionless, unable to respond… he could not deny the logic in Larken's words… as much as it pained him to admit it. Arthur appraised the other man coolly, running his words over in his mind. "Tell me Larken," he said at last, "Why would you reveal these details to me now? Henrith may be retired but his estate is not that far a journey… he could still be made to account for his actions in concealing these things from the King."

"Yes… he could," was Larken's grim reply, "maybe then the old fool would have some remorse for the actions he has taken in his life. Now if you will excuse me Sire, I have fulfilled my duties in passing on the information I had and now I must return to my village."

"Out of the question," said Arthur firmly, "First you must come before the King and repeat to him what you know of Henrith's deception."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, I must return to my village at once."

"Well you can't leave tonight, the curfew is… wait; never mind the curfew, the City is on lock-down until the sorcerer is found!" Exclaimed Arthur as the realisation dawned on him that something wasn't right, "So how did you get passed the blockade?"

Larken's face was impassive; his eyes unreadable as he drew his hood back up over his head, "There are many ways in to Camelot"

Falling automatically into an offensive stance, Arthur slowly drew his sword and levelled it at Larken's chest, "All tunnels and passages are either blocked or guarded; I saw to that myself… who are you?"

"My name is Larken."

"You're lying," replied Arthur, noticing for the first time how deserted the market square was and shifting his stance in unease at the lack of soldiers that should have been on guard, "Get on your knees and tell me why you _really_ came here."

"I have been completely honest with you Sire and I can assure you that my information is accurate."

Arthur smiled derisively, "You expect me to believe that?"

"You _must_ believe it; Camelot's future depends upon it."

"Then it's a future that you'll share in, the dungeons will be your home tonight… Guards!" Arthur shouted over his shoulder, hoping to summon the reinforcements that should have been patrolling every street.

"I think not," said Larken simply as he drew his own sword from beneath his cloak, "I have no wish to fight you Sire but I will not be imprisoned by anyone."

"And I cannot let you leave," countered Arthur, dropping suddenly and cutting his sword across Larken's knees to immobilise his quarry. With a neat sidestep Larken dodged the blow and raised his own sword to deftly parry Arthur's attack.

Swinging his sword back up to chest level, Arthur slowly circled the dark haired man standing before him; Larken's own sword hung by his side, apparently unconcerned by Arthur's advances. In one swift motion Arthur leaped forward and brought his blade down, only to meet the steel of Larken's counter-parry. Stepping nimbly to the left Arthur then lunged into another attack and was again thwarted in his efforts. Again and again Arthur moved to strike at Larken and every time his opponent's sword appeared to move from nowhere to block him. Sweating slightly and grunting at the effort of each blow, Arthur powered on doggedly. Larken on the other hand appeared completely unfazed by the exertion, his ice-blue eyes blazing out from underneath his dark cloak, unblinking.

With one last forward thrust, Arthur was once more off-set by his foe and now, with his balance compromised, Arthur found himself stumbling to the ground. In a cold sweat he felt the kiss of steel against his throat, pinning him against the wall behind him. Larken stared down at the crown prince thoughtfully before returning his sword to its sheath.

"Heed my words Arthur, the Scáthan are not your enemy and neither is magic. Uther is the true enemy, a tyrant in his own Kingdom. You must rise up, take your rightful place on the throne and fulfil your destiny," with that Larken gave a deep bow to Arthur, who still lay stunned on the ground; and stepped backwards, vanishing immediately into the darkness of the ally.

Breathing heavily, Arthur blinked in disbelief at what he had just seen and heard. Coming to his senses he jumped to his feet and raced down the ally in pursuit, emerging suddenly onto the main concourse of the market. Skidding to a halt Arthur scanned the whole area, desperately trying to see a sign of his quarry. He strained his ears against the darkness but there was no sound and no movement at all to suggest another party had even come this way.

Arthur yelled in frustration and kicked out at a pile of empty crates lying nearby. Cursing his failure, Arthur turned once more towards the castle, angry at himself for letting Larken slip away so easily. As he walked he played over in his mind what the dark haired man had said to him, swallowing uneasily at his traitorous words and the implications of the destiny he had spoken of. He was not the bastard son of Henrith, of that he was sure. What he wasn't sure of was whether or not that meant he did not believe his story of the Scáthan people.

He ran through the account again and couldn't help but admit that it made sense. It matched up with the few snippets of information that he had heard from Merlin and as much as he was ashamed to admit it, it tied in with what he knew of his Father and his obsession with ridding Camelot of magic. Arthur felt the bile of indignation rising in his throat and realised in horror that he felt sorry for the Scáthan people and was mortified by his father's actions. He shook his head angrily, pushing those thoughts from his mind; he was the crown Prince, he must stay loyal to the throne.

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks as another thought hit him… what of Morgana's involvement? He tried to fit the pieces together, running through all of the events so far and each time he reached a dead end. It just didn't fit. Nothing could explain why Morgana alone would be targeted for revenge. Why not him? He was heir to the throne… why not Uther himself!? He was the one that had ordered the attack after all!

Larken had implied that she may have been involved after all; the question was… did he believe him?

*****


	12. Heart Shaped Box

_**Chapter 12: Heart shaped box **_

Merlin stood watching as the small slab of honey in the iron pot melted into a thin liquid and began to caramelise. He had already washed and pounded the stone salt crystals that he had collected earlier and mixed them with a little wood ash he had taken from Gaius' fire grate; now he added them to the pot and carefully stirred the mixture as it reduced to a thick treacle consistency. Taking the pot from the fire so as not to ignite the concoction before its time, he poured the mixture out into a mould he had fashioned from a disused piece of crockery.

As he waited for it to cool, he hastily washed away the remnants of the dung heap that still clung to his feet and threw on some relatively fresh clothes retrieved from the corner of his room. As he ran down the steps and back into Gaius' main chambers he paused for a moment before bounding back into his room. From a small brown sack under his bed that contained his few meagre possessions, Merlin pulled out a little silver box intricately carved with a delicate floral motif. It had been a long time since he had looked at the trinket and he slowly traced his fingers along the markings, turning it over in his hands. With a determined nod he pushed the box deep into his pocket and jogged once more out of his room and back to Gaius' work bench.

The caramelised honey had now fully hardened and resembled a small nugget of amber, which he carefully pulled from the mould, wrapped in a piece of oil cloth and placed into a leather pouch that hung from his belt. Satisfied that he had followed the Dragon's instructions to the letter, he quickly gathered some clean bandages and ointments from the store shelves and hurried back to Morgana's bedside, eager to check on his patient.

The two guards that were still posted outside of her chamber doors barely gave Merlin a second glance as he stepped between them, pulling the doors closed quietly behind him. By the dim candle light in the room he could see Morgana still lying face-down on the bed, with Gwen curled up in a chair in the corner, a blanket pulled haphazardly around her as she slept soundly.

Merlin walked noiselessly over to the bed and set down the items that he had carried with him, just as Morgana began to stir. Her body slowly stretched out stiffly, before she was rudely reminded of the torture she had suffered that morning and winced visibly in pain. She clenched her fists and drew her breath in sharply as she raised herself onto her elbows and turned to look at Merlin, her watering eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Try not to move, I need to redress your wounds," instructed Merlin softly.

Morgana let out a frustrated sigh at these words and lowered herself back onto the bed, burying her head into the covers.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"For the best part of the day; we're into the first watch of the night," said Merlin as he laid out the bandages next to Morgana on the bed, "Gwen has been watching over you, she's sleeping just there," he added, nodding with his head at Gwen's slumbering form.

Morgana simply nodded her head, unable to turn and see her maidservant from her prone position.

"How do you feel now?" asked Merlin as he removed the blanket that had covered her and gingerly peeled back the corner of the muslin that lay across her cuts.

"Like the skin has been ripped from my back," she replied flatly.

A crooked smile tugged at Merlin's mouth, "Sorry… silly question. I'm going to remove these dressings, I'll be as careful as I can."

The resinous quality of the poultice had caused it to shrink in on itself so that Merlin was able to simply lift the layers of muslin away from Morgana's skin without too much trouble, rolling the material back until the whole sheet could be removed at once and discarded. Merlin then inspected the welts and thin red cuts that lined her back, satisfied that they were healing well.

"The poultice seems to have done the trick; I don't think you'll get any permanent scarring."

"Thank you Merlin," she replied, forcing a weak smile, "but I think that scars are the least of my problems right now…"

"No… no of course not," Merlin mumbled as all of the different facets of their current situation and the tasks they still faced flashed through his mind in stark reality. Working quickly to dispel these thoughts, Merlin reached for a large earthenware pot that he had brought with him from Gaius' stores. In it was a thin, oil based cream that Gaius used to treat burn wounds, plus a few added ingredients of his own - courtesy of the ancient book now hidden once again beneath his floorboards. "This will protect you from infection and should numb the pain again for you," he said soothingly as he began to apply a thin layer of the ointment to her skin.

"You haven't mentioned it so I assume the sorcerer has not been found?" asked Morgana tentatively.

"Not yet," replied Merlin tersely.

"Have you… have you discovered anything? Anything about what her motives might be?"

Merlin's paused momentarily in his ministrations as the Dragon's warning words echoed in his ears, "I believe so milady, try not to worry. Arthur is meeting us here soon; I'll explain everything when he arrives."

Morgana simply nodded her head in resignation, then lay in silence as he worked, lost in her own thoughts but breathing more evenly as the pain did at last begin to subside once more. Taking a fresh length of muslin, Merlin carefully rebound her wounds, gently pressing the material into place as before.

"All done," he said, unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice, "I don't think even Gaius could fault it!"

"Thank you Merlin," said Morgana quietly, "now could you please help me to sit up?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Merlin replied quickly, "your bandages aren't secured in place."

"Then secure them; refasten my gown - that will keep the dressings in place."

Merlin's hands hovered uncertainly over the clasps of the dress, "Maybe I should wake Gwen," he suggested, his eyes drifting over to Gwen's sleeping form. "I don't want to hurt you," he added feebly.

"No, let her rest," Morgana instructed, "you won't hurt me - but if we're going to discuss our plans once Arthur arrives I want to be ready… Please Merlin."

With a small sigh of apprehension, Merlin carefully pulled the two sides of Morgana's bodice together over the top of the bandages. He winced in sympathy as the extra pressure this put on her cuts elicited a small cry of pain; one that she quickly swallowed as she again urged him to continue until her gown was properly fastened. Kneeling by her side, Merlin took Morgana's arm around his neck and slowly helped her into a sitting position, supporting her as she slumped forward slightly, hunched over her lap.

"Thank you…" said Morgana as she took a deep breath to try and steady herself and stop the room from spinning around her, "The pain is bearable again, you're obviously learning a lot from Gaius."

Merlin swallowed a smile as he thought of exactly how little Gaius' efforts to teach him his craft had actually helped him, "You're welcome Milady," he said with a grin, before his face grew serious once more. The thought of Gaius brought to mind the advice his white-haired mentor had given _not_ to confide in Morgana about magic… advice that he was about to ignore. Still kneeling in front of the King's ward, Merlin cleared his throat nervously, "Although… there is something I must tell you."

Morgana looked at him quizzically, "Yes?"

"Earlier today when you were… when you were being… well… what I mean is - I saw the flame."

"Flame?" repeated Morgana in utter bewilderment, "What flame?"

"The _flame_," he said again in an urgent whisper, "from the candle, I saw you light it."

"Merlin I can assure you I have not lit any candles today, what are you talking about?"

"Not with your hands…" he replied, staring intently at her as he let his heavily weighted words hang in the air for a moment, "with your mind."

A brief wave of panic passed before Morgana's eyes as she began to realise how her new-found powers must have manifested themselves, before she quickly recovered, "And why would you automatically assume that I was the source of this flame when we already know that there is a sorcerer on the loose!"

"Milady, the candle came to life in perfect unison with every stroke that you were given!"

"That means nothing!" Morgana insisted.

"That, coupled with the strangely prophetic dreams you've been having lately," said Merlin, pressing on regardless, "I would say that you most definitely have magic… a strong magic.

Morgana's eyes widened in fear at Merlin's frank and razor-sharp observation, colour spreading across her pale skin, crimson with guilt and shame. Her fingers, locked tightly in her lap, began to tremble as her greatest dread was realised, voiced and released into the ether. It could no longer be ignore or covered over. She had magic and not only that… she had been discovered. Fresh tears spilled uncontrollably across her cheeks as she finally broke, her shoulders heaving in silent sobs. Reaching forward suddenly she grasped Merlin by the arm, clinging to him in desperation.

"Do you know what this means Merlin?" she asked bitterly, "I am the King's Ward and yet he had me beaten when he thought I had merely aided a sorcerer. He wouldn't hesitate to execute me if he found out the truth about me."

"But he's not going to find out," insisted Merlin, grasping both of her hands in his own in reassurance, "I can keep the magic secret, trust me."

"It isn't you I'm worried about," said Morgana with a sigh, "It's me, I have no idea how to control it and at some point I am certainly going to reveal myself."

Merlin looked searchingly at Morgana, as if he could find the answers to their problems in the depths of her pale green eyes. "Tell me," he began at last, "How did it feel?"

"Excruciating," she replied blankly.

"No, not the whipping, how did it feel when you first became aware of the magic."

Morgana closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she thought back to the white-hot feeling of raw power expanding at the centre of her being, "It was terrifying and overwhelming… and wonderful… and intoxicating and I felt as if I would explode. I could feel such energy inside of me like a… a ball of fire. It seemed as though I could feel every part of my body at once and yet… it grew so quickly Merlin, I was petrified that I would be eaten up in flames!"

"But you weren't, the only flame that ignited was that one small candle… which means that you CAN control it and you did! All you need to do is understand how you managed it then and how you can do it again."

Merlin reached into his pocket and pulled out the small silver box that he had retrieved from under his bed and placed it in the palm of Margana's hand, watching as she slowly ran her fingers along its delicate pattern.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It was given to me by my Mother when I was a boy, she told me that whenever I felt that my problems were too big to face, I should just imagine putting them inside this box and closing the lid. It's amazing how much smaller problems seem when you can hold them in your hand."

Morgana stared down at the silver box lying in her palm and sighed quietly to herself, her heart longing for the loving words of a Mother that she had been so starved of as a child.

"It's the same principle with your magic," he continued taking the box and holding it up between them, "Imagine this box in your mind with all of that energy locked inside. Whatever amount you want to let out is up to you; _you _control _it_, not the other way around."

"Your Mother sounds like a wise woman."

"You have no idea…"

"But Merlin, this is different, this is sorcery. It's powerful and… and so unknown to me. What if Uther is right, what if it _is_ evil and there is nothing I can do to prevent it from dominating me?"

"It's not like that, trust me it will work, it…"

"How do you know Merlin?" asked Morgana is despair, "What do you know of Magic?"

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, stumbling over his words as a hundred implications flashed through his mind of what might happen if he actually _did_ reveal to Morgana what he knew of magic. Once again the slick sound of the Dragon's voice echoed in his ears_, 'the Witch is not to be trusted, her loyalties are… divided…'_

"I…" he hesitated, clearing his throat tensely, "I had a friend in Ealdor who had magic. There's no law against it in my village but people didn't trust it. It was… difficult for him when we were growing up."

"Did he face execution?" asked Morgana bluntly.

"No… not execution," he replied, looking down briefly as he remembered some of the worst moments of his childhood, "But there were a lot of very hostile people that could easily have made him embittered and vengeful. Instead he taught me that magic is a part of who you are and so you can make it become whatever you want. He chose to use it to help people… and I know that you can too."

Morgana looked at him searchingly, "You really think that I can control it?"

"Yes, I…" Merlin's voice trailed off as a small noise to the left made both their heads turn in that direction… and both of their stomachs fall through the floor.

Gwen's eyes were wide open and bright with shock as she stared at her two friends in stunned silence…

*****


	13. Shooting the Messenger

_**Chapter 13: Shooting the Messenger**_

"How dare you go behind my back in this way!" bellowed King Uther, leaning menacingly across the table that separated him from his only-begotten son who stood stiffly to attention before him.

"Father, I don't see how-"

"How dare you question senior members of _my_ court as if they were common criminals!" spat Uther, throwing down the document he had been reading and staring angrily at Arthur.

The young Royal clenched his jaw in agitation, "I fail to see the issue Father; you are the one that stressed how vital any information was that could help us re-capture the sorcerer."

"The issue, Arthur, is that your actions have completely undermined my authority over this court!" said the King icily, "I have had several complaints that not only did you interrogate these men, you harassed their wives as well!"

"I wouldn't say _harassed_-"

"Members of the court report to their King and their King _alone_ is that understood?" interrupted Uther, ignoring his son's objections.

Arthur bit back a sigh of frustration, chafing under the rebuke, "Yes Father," he said at last through gritted teeth, "My apologies if my actions were improper, I was merely trying to be thorough."

Uther appraised his son for several moments before exhaling noisily in resignation, "And what did this 'thorough' search reveal?" he asked.

The Crown Prince scowled at his feet in annoyance, "Nothing Sire," he mumbled at last, the sheer gall of it all too much for him to bear. For hours his men had questioned the Lords, councillors and advisors of the court and none would reveal anything of any worth. Even armed with the additional information from Larken, not one man would admit that such a people were once allied with Camelot.

"Nothing?" repeated the King is disgust, "You mean to tell me that we have wasted a whole day and _still_ you have no lead on the sorcerer, or even that Morgana has not been harbouring her?"

"Actually," began Arthur, studying his Father's reaction closely, "I do have some idea of who this sorcerer is and what grudge they may have against Camelot… against you."

Uther turned slowly to face his son, narrowing his eyes quizzically at him, "Well? Who is she?"

"I believe her people are called 'Scáthan'," said Arthur, watching as the blood drained visibly from his Father's face.

"What did you say?" breathed the King hoarsely.

"The _Scáthan_ Father," he repeated, folding his arms across his chest in satisfaction, "They are a people that can disappear into nothing but shadow and their description matches some sightings that have been reported to me."

"What do you know of this race?" demanded Uther quietly.

Arthur chose his words carefully, "They were reported to have once been allies of Camelot but-"

"That's absurd!" fumed the King, recovering himself at last, "How dare you imply that my Kingdom was ever in league with sorcerers!"

"Father I-"

"The Scáthan were a ferocious and powerful race that was wiped out over two decades ago to protect the people of this realm. I can assure you that however you obtained this report… you were misinformed. The sorcerer that we had locked in the dungeon was no Scáthan."

"But the name itself seems so familiar to me…"

"You are mistaken; you would have been a baby when we finally rid the land of them."

"But is it not possible that some of them have survived? Can you not see that they would want revenge for attempting to destroy their race?"

"Are you calling me a liar?" demanded Uther, the anger in his voice emphasising each and every syllable as they were spat from his lips.

"No Father," said Arthur dismally, his eyes dropping to the floor once more.

"I demand that you bring these witnesses before me at once."

Arthur's heart sank even further at this command as he knew he had no witnesses that he _could _produce. Larken had vanished into the night without a trace and he could not reveal Merlin as a source for fear of incriminating him also. Even the ancient documents that Merlin claimed to have found in the archives wouldn't help him as they merely proved the Scáthan had once existed… nothing more.

"I… I'm afraid I can't do that Sire."

Uther relax slightly as he strode over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. Taking a long draught he turned once more to his son, "Then you will drop this matter immediately and focus on searching the city."

The young Prince nodded his head glumly, then another thought hit him, "If I am to do that Sire, then I will need to utilise the full compliment of the guard."

"Hasn't that been done already?" asked the King in surprise.

"The majority are being used; however a number of men are still on sentry duty in various parts of the Castle."

"Has the Castle been fully searched?"

"Of course Father, I saw to it myself."

"Then they are useless to me if they are guarding areas already cleared. Send them all out; in the eventuality of any danger I have my personal guard," insisted Uther firmly, gesturing toward the soldiers with the Pendragon Royal Seal emblazoned on their chests standing to attention in the far corner of the chambers.

"Very well Sire, if you are sure that _all_ guards should-"

"Just do as I command for pity's sake!" exclaimed the King, slamming his goblet to the table in frustration.

"Yes Father," agreed Arthur meekly, turning to make a hasty exit.

"And Arthur," called the King, stopping the younger man in his tracks, "As much as it pains me… if the sorcerer is not found soon I will have no option but to pursue every means necessary to obtain the information we need… and that includes Morgana," he said ominously.

"I understand Father," said Arthur innocently, "After all, finding out the _truth_ is what really matters, isn't that right?"

"Yes… yes it is," Uther agreed hesitantly, unable to read the look on his son's face as he turned and left the room.

Resisting the urge to slam the door behind him, Arthur marched away from his Father's chambers in disgust. That had gone far worse than he had hoped… and he hadn't hoped for much. He hadn't been able to ignore the summons to report an update to his Father as soon as he'd entered the castle and while he knew that the information he had was speculatory at best, he had counted on his Father accepting his word as he had in the past; he had not expected such a strong reaction from Uther, or for him to oppose what he had found. It was hard for him to stomach that his Father would lie to him so blatantly but the look on the King's face when he had mentioned the Scáthan had convinced him beyond doubt that Larken's account was true; yet still Uther denied it. He just hoped that Merlin's plan to smoke the Scáthan out actually worked because right now it was looking like their only hope.

Arthur quickly relayed Uther's command with regards to the re-assignment of the guard in the castle to Sir Leon and ordered a step up of the search, before heading back towards Morgana's chambers, eager to meet with the others. As he walked beneath a large decorative banner at the foot of a stairwell he stopped suddenly and stared open mouthed at the verdant hues of the Dragon embroidered on the bright red material. The motto of the Royal standard 'Pendraeg am byth', or _Pendragon Forever_ was emblazoned under the feet of the Dragon in gold stitching and he knew at once why the name Scáthan had seemed so familiar.

Turning on his heel, Arthur raced back down the tower steps and headed to the Royal Armoury. Selecting the correct key from his belt, he quickly let himself into the vault at the back which contained the Royal ceremonial armour and all the official Standards of his forefathers dating back through the illustrious history of the Pendragon dynasty. This room had been a favourite place of his as a child to hide away and forget about lessons and tutors and all the heavy demands placed on a young Prince's shoulders… and instead dream of Knights and battles and honour and glory.

Walking purposefully over to the far corner of the room he at once found what he was looking for. There, hung boldly from the wall for all to see, was the Standard used by his Grandfather, Constantine II. When his Father had died, Uther had adopted the symbol of the Great Dragon as well as the family motto. The only difference in Constantine's Standard was a small band circling the Dragon's neck. The wording that laced its way around the circle simply read 'Scáthia seirbheáil'… _Scáthia will serve._

Arthur's whole body went cold as he looked up at those words. What he had secretly hoped was not true now stared back at him in absolute certainty. His Father was a liar… and a murderer.

Ripping the standard from the wall, the Prince hastily rolled up the material and ran back through the corridors to Morgana's chambers. He smiled wickedly to himself as he saw that Sir Leon had carried out Uther's instructions already, as not one guard was on duty in the Royal wing. Glancing out of the window as he mounted the steps to Morgana's floor he saw the intensifying efforts of the search that he had ordered. Despite the darkness, hoards of guards were being sent out en mass, their fiery torches lighting up half the city like swarms of fire flies.

Without pausing to knock, Arthur burst into Morgana's chambers and swung the door shut behind him with a bang, only faltering when he turned back to face the three occupants of the room. There was an unusual tension hanging in the air that he couldn't quite fathom and all three swung their heads to face him in unison as if he had just caught them red handed up to no good.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"No Sire!" said Merlin, a little too quickly for Arthur's liking, as he jumped up from the kneeling position he had occupied before Morgana.

"Really?" he asked again, distrustfully, "Because I get the distinct impression you were all just talking about me…"

"Everything isn't always about _you_ Arthur," sighed Morgana wearily.

"… I mean, I can go out and come back in again if you like…"

"Everything's fine, honestly," insisted Merlin, turning to pack away the discarded bandages and jars he had left on the bed, "I've just finished re-dressing Morgana's wounds, that's all."

Arthur moved quickly to his adoptive sister's side, forgetting his initial misgivings, "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she replied, looking up at him grimly, "But better, the dressing Merlin applied has helped numb the pain."

"Good," he said with feeling, looking appreciatively at his manservant who grinned happily back at him, "do you think you are up to moving? I've just come from an audience with my Father and he is refusing to listen to the information we've found and continues to accuse you of being involved. I think its best if we hide you away until we can get to the bottom of it all."

"So you believe me!" Morgana exclaimed, clutching Arthur by the sleeve.

"Yes I do," he replied, searching her eyes earnestly, "I know you Morgana, you may rush into things but your heart is always in the right place. There's no way you'd pit the three of us against my Father to simply save your own neck… you're far too stubborn."

Morgana laughed in agreement and nodded her head in relief, "Thank you… I think."

"Besides, from what I've heard of this creature it would need no help to escape from a prison of iron bars."

"So you know who she is… what she is?" exclaimed Morgana in excitement.

"We believe so," said Merlin, stepping toward the two Royals; this was his moment, "They're called-"

"Scáthan," finished Arthur, oblivious to Merlin's look of utter shock.

"How did you-?"

"Merlin, please! I'm trying to talk!" huffed the Prince indignantly, "I was approached by a villager who claimed to be Sir Henrith's illegitimate son. I don't believe that for a second but he told me of a people called the Scáthan who can disappear into nothing but shadow. They used to be allied with Camelot… until my Father…"

"Slaughtered them all," finished Merlin helpfully.

"Exactly," agreed Arthur in a sombre tone, "Merlin saw a woman hiding amongst the shadows in the corner of your chambers during your punishment. For a while I couldn't work out what her motive might be… but I think that this is the true nature of the escaped sorceress and that she's come for some sort of revenge on Uther and his household… you just happen to be first."

"Do you have proof of this?" asked Gwen in a quiet voice as she peered warily around the room.

"I now have proof of the allegiance that my Father denies," said Arthur holding up the rolled up Standard, "But not proof of everything and as much as I hate to say it… I don't trust Uther to admit his own guilt, which is why we need to get Morgana to safety until we can get that proof and clear her name once and for all." He walked purposefully over to the small sack of Morgana's possessions that Gwen had prepared as instructed and swung it onto his back. "We can hide in Merlin's chambers, that way if we're discovered we can say we simply moved Morgana so that Gaius could better care for her when he returned."

"What about the Guards?" asked Merlin, helping Morgana to her feet.

Arthur grinned suddenly despite the seriousness of the situation, "That's where my particular brand of genius comes in," he said with an arrogant swagger as he opened the door and revealed the conspicuous lack of guards.

"How did you manage that?" asked Morgana in awe.

"I convinced my Father to assign _all _the guards to the search," he said smugly.

"Clever," replied the young ward, leaning heavily on Merlin as she walked, "Let's hope the King doesn't connect those two facts!"

That's the beauty of it… I convinced him that it was _his _idea!" he crowed triumphantly as Morgana and Merlin set off down the passageway.

Arthur turned to Gwen as she picked up the rest of Merlin's supplies and made to follow her companions into the corridor. For the first time, he realised that she had said barely a word since he'd arrived.

"Do not be troubled Gwen," he said, mistaking her silence for anxiety, "I won't let anything harm Morgana."

Her face deeply lined with fear and worry, Gwen dropped her eyes and mumbled a reply he didn't quite catch as she slipped past him and followed Merlin and Morgana into the darkness of the night.

*****


	14. Confessions of a Court Physician

_**Chapter 14: Confessions of a Court Physician **_

"You're sure that he said Scáthan…" asked Gaius emphatically, his brow deeply furrowed as he questioned Arthur, "That's the word he used? _Scáthan_?"

"Yes, that's what the man said," Arthur confirmed, "What do you know of them?"

"And you have _seen_ these creatures?" Gaius persisted.

"Yes Gaius!" insisted the Prince categorically, "I can assure you we are not mistaken."

The aging physician sat down heavily on a small wooden stool, his eyes searching frantically through the recesses of his memory for a possible explanation of how the Scáthan could have survived.

Bringing his eyes slowly back into focus, he looked up at the four young faces staring back at him. It had been a long and tiring few days for Gaius, travelling around to all the far-flung villages of Uther's Kingdom to test the water supplies and calm the petrified villagers. He had arrived back at the castle after the new curfew and had almost not been granted passage back through the palace gates; then to make matters worse he had found his workroom left in the most appalling mess and had just been starting to clean up when Arthur had burst into the room, closely followed by Gwen and Merlin supporting a very pale looking Morgana.

And now this…

Merlin helped Morgana over to Gaius' narrow pallet bed and seated her gently before turning to face his mentor, "Everyone claims to have either not heard of these people, or denied that they were once allies of Camelot," he said urgently, "It's a lie, isn't it?"

Gaius nodded his head, slowly running his hand across his face, "What I am about to tell you," he began, "I once swore would never again pass my lips," he paused, choosing his words carefully. "The Scáthan were indeed allies but… more than that, they had always been the Pendragon's eyes and ears, even waging many wars in the name of Camelot. Their bravery and loyalty had no rival and their deeds were recognised on all of Constantine's banners," he said, pointing to the Standard now draped across his workbench. "In Uther's day the coalition went one step further when the Scáthan king was declared Vassal and they pledged all allegiance to Uther's throne."

"So what happened?" asked Gwen, sitting tentatively beside her mistress, "What changed?"

"Uther…" said Morgana simply.

"Right," replied Gaius, one eyebrow raised as he thought back grimly over all the many deaths and the bloodshed of the past two decades, "Magic became too much of a threat to Uther's Kingdom… and so he acted pre-emptively. The Scáthan were just one of many groups that had magic in the land, many of them were my close friends and I had no choice but to stand back and watch them face execution one by one."

"But why deny it?" asked Arthur in despair, "If he stands by his actions why re-write history and claim the alliance was never in place?"

"Because the Scáthan were good people," the older man replied softly, "Because what he did never rested well with own conscience and… he is ashamed." Gaius approached the Prince and put a supportive hand on his troubled shoulder, "It is a very human trait to apply our modern ideals to events of the past and bend the truth to fit our new conceptions of what is right and wrong. If we saw the past for what it truly is, full of mistakes that we cannot put right, then we would be forced to admit that in the end… we have learned nothing from it."

"But now my Father won't even listen to reason!" exclaimed the Prince in disgust, leaning against Gaius' workbench and crossing his arms across his chest in consternation.

"Your Father has stuck by this story for so long it is more than possible that he has come to believe his own lie."

"So we stick with the original plan," said Merlin with determination as he took the small parcel from his belt pouch, unwrapped the oil cloth and laid the hard misshapen nugget on the table. "We smoke them out, clear Morgana and force Uther to face the truth."

"This is your plan?" asked Gaius, his eyes widening as he peered at the homemade smoke bomb.

"First thing in the morning, we assemble the court and flush the girl out in front of everyone;" said Arthur decisively, "If anything goes wrong… Morgana will be safely hidden here out of harms way."

"And what of you?" asked Morgana pointedly.

"I am the Prince of this realm and Uther's only heir, I'll be fine," he replied flippantly.

"I am the Kings Ward… and see what protection that has afforded me!"

"Morgana's right," Gaius agreed, "You must be careful, it doesn't matter who you are, Uther is blinded by his hatred of magic and we all know that his temper holds no bounds," Gaius sighed heavily fixing Arthur with a firm stare, "As for the Scáthan, they were an extremely powerful race… who knows what lengths they may go to in order to exact their revenge on Camelot."

"I understand that there are risks Gaius… but we have no choice," insisted Arthur, holding his ground in resolution.

The physician looked from one face to the next around the room and nodded his head at length, "Very well," he said at last, "but now we must all get some rest or else when the time comes tomorrow, we shall all be dead on our feet." Gaius made his way over to where Morgana still sat on his pallet bed, "Merlin, make your chambers presentable while I check on these dressings."

Merlin's eyes widened in shock as the realisation hit him… a Royal head would be resting on his pillow tonight and at this very moment the remnants of a filthy dung heap was strewn across his floor! Leaping up from his seat and knocking the stool over backwards in the process, Merlin sped up the shallow steps to his little room and began gathering up discarded items of clothing and trying in vain to restore some semblance of order to it's natural state of disarray.

Amid this sudden flurry of activity, Gaius gestured for Gwen to undo the clasps to Morgana's dress while he cleared his throat pointedly at Arthur, gesturing for him to turn his back. The Prince did so with an indignant huff, busying himself with studying the books on Gaius's vast shelves.

Gently easing down the cloth that covered Morgana's back, Gaius inspected her wounds. The skin was no longer red and inflamed and each of the cut marks made by the whip appeared to be healing well. His experienced physician's eye told him that it was too soon for such injuries to be so well mended and all it took was a surreptitious sniff of the ointment smeared across the abrasions to tell him that magic was afoot.

"I trust that Merlin was able to care for you adequately in my absence my Lady?" he asked cautiously.

"More than adequately Gaius," said Morgana warmly, "The balms he put on the cuts almost instantly stopped the pain."

"Did they now…"

"Although… I must say that the first concoction he gave me to try and dull the pain _before_ the whipping had very little effect at all."

"Concoction… what concoction are you talking about?" he asked bemusedly as he began to put her dressings back into place and re-fasten her gown, satisfied at Merlin's efforts.

"He told me it was a remedy that you had mixed yourself!" exclaimed Morgana, equally puzzled.

"Of course… of course!" he said hurriedly, cursing Merlin silently, "My apologies that it didn't work as it should have, I'll be sure to increase the potency in future." Placing the unnecessary additional bandages back on his workbench, Gaius moved swiftly across the room and rapped loudly on his young apprentice's door. "Merlin, what are you doing in there?" he demanded impatiently.

Flinging the door open, Merlin barrelled out of the room, trying ineffectually to hide a large bundle of evil smelling items of clothing behind his back and shoving them hastily into a large sack, kicking it behind a nearby chest. "There! All ready," he declared with a flourish, beaming around at everyone as if nothing had happened.

"Morgana and Gwen can sleep in your chambers, heaven help them," said Gaius, shaking his head at Merlin in despair.

"Good," said Arthur, stifling a yawn as he took Morgana's place on Gaius's pallet and pulled off his boots, stretching his back in contentment.

"Arthur!" cried Gwen sharply before looking to her feet in shame at her tone, addressing him again in a near whisper, "Sire you can't take Gaius's bed, it would be…" she trailed off unsure how to finish.

"It's quite alright Guinevere," interjected Gaius, bristling slightly at the unspoken inference that he was too aged to give up his bed for the Prince, "It would be my honour."

"There you are, you see?" said Arthur smiling serenely.

"_Arthur!"_ Morgana reprimanded, frowning furiously at her adoptive brother.

The Prince opened his mouth to argue back but thought better of it, staring longingly one last time at the relative comfort of the pallet bed before standing up a true martyr and stomping over to the makeshift bed of old sacking that Merlin was arranging on the hearth.

Taking a small candle with them, the two women bade them goodnight and ascended the steps to Merlin's chambers, shutting the door quietly behind them.

As Arthur tossed and turned in a futile attempt at finding a comfortable position, Gaius called Merlin to his bedside. "Morgana's back is healing well," the older man said quietly, "A little too well in fact."

Merlin's broad grin fell rapidly as he realised Gaius knew, "Oh?" he asked innocently, trying to feign surprise.

"You used magic didn't you!" accused the physician, merely mouthing the 'M' word for fear Arthur overhear them.

The young warlock dropped his head and scratched his neck sheepishly in silent admission. Gaius rolled his eyes in frustration, "If _anyone _had seen you…" he hissed ominously.

"I know… I know," Merlin agreed raising his hands in mock-defence, "But I couldn't stand to see her in pain."

Gaius sighed in despair, the generosity of his apprentice's heart deflating his anger slightly, "Just tell me one thing," he asked, "What was in the mixture that you fed Morgana earlier today?"

"That?" asked Merlin in relief, "There was nothing _special_ in that, it was your own remedy you keep for Sir Geoffrey to help dull his pain."

"Sir Geoffrey?" repeated Gaius in bewilderment, "I have no pain medication for Sir Geoffrey, all I have is…" Gaius's words trailed off and his jaw hung open in disbelief as he saw the conspicuously empty space on the shelf where a small vial of brown liquid had once sat. "You _imbecile _Merlin! You instructed the first Lady of this Kingdom to ingest Sir Geoffrey's pile medication!"

Merlin's stomach fell to his knees and he turned a rather pallid shade of green, "Will it… I mean will she be…" he stuttered.

"She'll be fine!" he assured him in bemused wonder as he settle down beneath his blankets, "There's nothing toxic in it… although I should think it would taste foul, the key ingredient is pond algae!"

Merlin clamped his hand over his mouth as he heaved at the thought and determined that that was one thing the Lady Morgana would _never_ find out about.

Snuffing out the last candle he lay down beside Arthur, burrowing his way under the small pile of sacking and blankets he had put down for them both.

"Are you awake?" he asked his master in a hushed whisper.

"No," came the blunt reply.

Merlin grinned to himself in the darkness, "Do you think tomorrow's plan will work?"

"Not if you don't let me get some sleep, now shut _up_ Merlin!" hissed the Prince in ill-humour.

Merlin rolled onto his back and closed his eyes but sleep would not come. Too much rested on the events of tomorrow, on the plan that he had set in motion. Too many things racing through his head to allow his eyes to close and the blessed release of sleep to take him…

*****


	15. Through the Looking Glass

_**Chapter 15: Through the looking glass**_

Morgana held herself stiffly on her side in Merlin's bed, staring apprehensively at the still form of her maidservant lying next to her. Gwen had turned to face the opposite wall and pulled herself as far away from her mistress as was possible in such a confined space, balancing on the very edge of the bed.

Tentatively, Morgana reached out her hand and gently shook her arm, "Gwen," she whispered, "I must ask you something."

There was a moment's pause before Gwen replied, "Yes milady?" she asked, her position as Morgana's personal maid forcing her to respond.

"Earlier… in my chambers," Morgana began haltingly, "What did you hear?"

With a sigh Gwen turned slowly onto her back and stared at the ceiling, still refusing to meet her mistress's gaze, "I heard enough."

Morgana mouthed a silent 'oh', her lip trembling slightly as the implications of what this meant raced through her mind. The silence stretched on until she could bear it no longer. "Gwen," she said in a small voice, hardly above a whisper, "I need you to-"

"Don't worry, I won't say anything," said Gwen abruptly.

Relaxing muscles she had not known she'd been tensing, Morgana breathed a muted sigh of relief as she raised herself onto her elbow and leaned in toward her maid. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean for you to get caught up in this."

"You would have continued to lie to me?" demanded Gwen, turning for the first time to look Morgana in the eye.

"No!" she replied automatically; then bit her lip at Gwen's accusatory stare, daring her to attempt to stick with the lie, "I mean… I don't know… I just would not see you in danger for my sake."

"In this Kingdom Morgana, magic breads danger," sighed Gwen, laying on her back again and closing her eyes in defeat.

Tears welled in the young seers eyes as she saw her maidservant, her oldest and truest friend, drawing away from her, "Do you hate me Gwen?" she asked sadly.

The maids eyes snapped open at this and she rolled onto her side to look properly at her mistress, taking in her tear stained cheek and the despair haunting her eyes, "I do not hate you," she replied at last, placing a hand reassuringly on her arm, "I understand that you don't choose these things but… I am afraid-"

Morgana gasped in shock, "You are _afraid _of me?"

"No…no," said Gwen quickly, her eyes softening in kindness to her mistress, "I'm not afraid _of_ you… I am afraid _for _you. I was once almost executed and my Father's involvement in magic got him killed when neither of us possessed any magical abilities at all," her voice began to quaver as she spoke of her Father and she gripped the older woman's arm more tightly, "Morgana you are all I have left… I cannot lose you also."

Morgana's heart lurched as she understood Gwen's fears, the love in her words warming her and reassuring her of the trust and the friendship there was between them, relief pouring off of her in waves. "Nor I you," she said firmly, reaching up and grasping Gwen's hand in her own, "can you see why I would want to protect you from this?"

"Well it's too late for that now!" laughed Gwen suddenly, her infectious grin lightening the mood.

Morgana grinned back, laughing through her tears, happy for an excuse the break the tension, "I'm sorry…" she said simply.

"So now I know," affirmed Gwen, growing serious once more, "So you can tell me how you feel."

Sighing heavily, months of pent up emotions bubbling behind her pale green eyes, Morgana searched for the right words, "You talk of fear," she began slowly, "Well for as long as I can remember I have been so afraid of this… thing… this unexplainable feeling growing inside of me. Afraid of what it _is_, of what it means… afraid of Uther finding out… afraid of being executed because of it," her voice faltered slightly and she swallowed her emotions, determined to get this out, "Most of all though, I have been afraid of _myself_… until now I have merely had dreams that seem to show me glimpses of the future, that alone is enough to get me killed in this Kingdom but I have also been aware of another, stronger power building inside me and yesterday it manifested itself for the first time. That is what frightens me most… of what could happen if I couldn't control it… if I hurt someone because of it."

Gwen nodded slowly in understanding. Morgana dropped her eyes, her other hand closing automatically around the hard shape of the little silver box carefully secreted in the folds of her gown, "Now Merlin has helped me to see that it is possible for me to control it and I have accepted it for what it is… a part of me," Morgana looked up into Gwen's eyes once more, searching for acceptance, for reassurance, "Do you think that you could do the same?"

"I will try," she replied honestly, "but it is all so unknown to me."

"It is unknown to me also!" exclaimed Morgana emphatically, "But please say that you will help me to work through this, to help me find my strengths and guide me with my weaknesses. Gwen, you have such a good soul… I trust your council above all others."

"I'll do my best," she said sincerely, settling back onto her pillow once more, "You can trust me Morgana… you know that."

From deep within the shadows of the room a pair of ice-blue eyes watched this exchange between the two women, watched the newfound seer express her thanks and relief at finding acceptance and a friend to confide in at last. She watched them both drift slowly off to sleep, clinging to one another like two lost souls in the narrow bed, before finally dragging herself away and slipping out of the room and into the cold of the night.

Conflicting emotions tore at Lamrieth's heart as she sank deep into the shadows of a crevice in the castle walls, away from the flickering torchlight of the guards still touring the city streets, and thought back over the events of the last few hours.

After appearing to Arthur in Larken's form and carrying out the Dragon's instructions, she had found herself retuning once more to Morgana's chambers and watching over the troubled seer as she slept. She had done as Kilgharrah asked and implied to Arthur that Morgana may have been involved with the 'sorcerer' but there was still a part of her deeply drawn to the witch lying vulnerably before her.

Then she had watched as the one known among her people as Emrys had tenderly cared once more for Morgana's wounds, but more than that, had shown his true regard for the woman by also ignoring the Great Dragon and offering some advice of his own to her. She had seen the kindness in his eyes as he struggled to help her without revealing his own secrets… something she understood all too well. And try as she might, she could not see the evil in Morgana that the Dragon claimed was there as she had taken Merlin's little silver box and clutched it to her chest in awe.

She had continued to watch as first Arthur and then Gwen too had stepped up beside Morgana, showing their love and trust in her. That type of unwavering love that cannot be shaken by a string of accusations was an unconditional love. The love of family.

With a sudden jolt Lamrieth heaved herself out of the shadows and raced through the darkened corridors of the castle, slipping effortlessly under the large wooden door and reforming herself in the quiet darkness of Morgana's chambers. Her instinct had told her all along not to trust the Dragon and she would take him at his word no longer.

Walking noiselessly over the cold stone floor, Lamrieth crouched over a small bundle of cloth stashed hastily in the corner of the room. It was here that Gwen had carefully placed the broken fragments of Morgana's mirror but had not dared to leave her chambers to dispose of them for fear she would not be there when her mistress awoke. Now Lamrieth unwrapped it carefully, laying its contents out on the floor before her. Passing her hand slowly over the discarded shards, they one and all began to rise up into the air, rotating gradually into place so that the shape of the original mirror began to appear. Her ice-blue eyes blazed brightly for a second and each piece instantly fused back together and the smooth, unbroken surface glinted in the moonlight.

Taking the reformed mirror in her hands, Lamrieth sat down at Morgana's dresser, placing it carefully back onto its plinth. She laid both her hands onto its surface and took a deep breath. It was time, time she knew the truth… even if that meant breaking a long held vow to her Father. Her people's name had two meanings; Scátha meaning shadow… and Scáthán meaning mirror. They were masters of the shadow realm but now she would call upon her second gift. The gift of sight beyond what humans see reflected back at them.

Opening her eyes wide she saw her own image begin to fade from before her as the surface started to cloud. Peering through the murky depths she looked past herself, past the here and now and on into the future, her skin tingling with the effort. Images began to flash up before her, and she took several deep breaths in order to get them under control, to slow their progression so that she could make sense of what she saw.

Arthur's face leaped out of the gloom, but he was older, his features lined with the weight of responsibility and Kingship. There was a peace about him though and looking past him Lamrieth could see but one path, just as there had always been. One path, one destiny – to unite all Albion and rule with power, justice and wisdom. Smiling, she saw Emrys by his side, trusted advisor and protector to the King.

But what of Morgana? Frowning, Lamrieth searched through the thick smoke broiling on the surface of the mirror until at last she found the raven-haired seer and drew her image toward herself. Tensing her fingers, the young Scáthan explored her future. With a sharp intake of breath she saw not one or two but many paths stretching out from her, twisting and turning their way into the distance, some of which led to darkness… to death and chaos. With a shudder Lamrieth saw the twisted truth of Kilgharrah's words… Morgana was not evil… simply misguided as a series of events led her further and further toward a black and bitter end. Those path's led to Arthur's downfall and the end of a peaceful, united Albion. The face of one called Mordred appeared again and again as she explored each of these possible futures and there was nothing but tragedy littering every step.

The Dragon had not been truthful however, there were other paths, other possibilities that led to peace and prosperity, to a life filled with love and light… so much light.

Slumping forward in exhaustion, Lamrieth broke her hold on the mirror and the images instantly faded; the darkness of Morgana's chambers reflecting back at her once more.

A thousand thoughts raced through her mind as she desperately struggled to understand the Dragon's motives, his intentions for wanting to push Morgana away from the loving circle of friends she had. Each path she had explored revealed the same thing, with those she trusted around her, Morgana grew into a great and powerful sorceress… but one with a kind heart and a firm grip on justice. Gwen stood proudly by her side in each of these glimpses she had seen, offering her wise words and insights. Each path that led to darkness however, began with Morgana being pushed closer and closer to the one called Mordred and ending in the destruction of Albion… and Arthur.

Why would the Dragon want to destroy something that he himself professed to want more than anything? It didn't make sense.

Drawing her energy up from the depths of her being, Lamrieth laid her hands once more on the mirror's surface, determined to find some answers. As the reflective image began to cloud, she focused her entire being on Kilgharrah… her eyes growing wide with shock at the path that stretched out before him.

Choking back a cry, the young Scáthan ripped her hands from the mirror and tumbled backwards onto the cold stone of the floor. She wrapped her arms around herself and sank back into the shadows, comforted only by the numb feeling of darkness around her. What she had seen had shaken her to the core; the Dragon had had one plan in mind all along and was carefully orchestrating events to fit his own desires.

So much death… so much bloodshed…

Lamrieth slowly got a hold of her senses as she finally understood what Kilgharrah intended. Now she had but one option, one way to set things straight.

Easing herself deeper into the recesses of the shadows she attempted to rest. Tomorrow would be an eventful day.

*****


	16. Smoke and Mirrors

_**Chapter 16: Smoke and Mirrors**_

An expectant murmur of voices spread like wild-fire around the palace court room as Arthur stood grimly before the throne.

Already it had been an eventful few hours for the young Prince, as early that morning he had set their plan in motion and boldly entered his Father's private chambers, informing him that he knew the whereabouts of the sorcerer and that she was being escorted to the castle that very moment. Needless to say, Uther had been delighted at the news, if a little bemused. Arthur had managed to avoid answering any specific questions as to _how _this miraculous outcome had transpired, simply emphasised the importance of making an example of the woman and showing the people of Camelot what happened to those who broke the law and freely practiced magic… what was needed was a public trial – and of course an execution.

Looking around him now, Arthur saw that his Father had not failed him. It seemed that every courtier, official and nobleman in all of Camelot was packed into the great room, fanning out from each side of the royal platform and reaching right around the length of the hall to the double doors at the far end. A preening mass of sycophants all resplendent in their finery, eager to show their allegiance to their King by displaying their own hatred of the sorcerer they believed was about to be dragged in before them.

Arthur glanced across the room at Uther himself; sitting regally on his throne and looking out over the cream of the society he had created with a satisfied smile. The two smaller chairs set back from the King were both empty, his own for obvious reasons as he stood centre court; Morgana's however was conspicuously vacant and Arthur realised just how alone his Father had become in his own court, even surrounded as he was by his followers. Just days ago this same court had been gathered and he and Morgana had sat loyally either side of their King, a united front for Camelot and her people. How things had changed.

He stood opposite his Father now and it no longer felt like he was before his King, the man he had looked up to and idolised his entire life. His position felt like a challenge, a face-off against a man he no longer knew. The revelations he had discovered from Larken and Gaius had opened his eyes to the injustices that his Father had meted out over the years. The way he had treated Morgana, the woman who had been like a daughter to him, was merely the feather in the cap. He knew Uther to be firm and resolute in his dealings with sorcerers but he had always thought him to be fair and just, his actions necessary… oh how things had changed. He had seen enough magic practiced with evil intent in the course of his life to know some action was needed of course, but the balance of good and evil was a line his father was walking with increasingly faltering steps.

Gripping the Standard tighter beneath his cloak, Arthur determined that he would no longer follow his Father's guidance blindly. Uther was King and nothing could change a lifetime of training, instilling in him the respect that that deserved – he was the Crown Prince after all… but from now on he would take note. Not of the actions of the King that he would want to emulate as he had done before… no, now Arthur was resolved to study his Father and make note of how he would do things differently when his time came. Uther had fallen heavily from the pedestal in his Son's mind and nothing could put him back up there.

He looked with distain at the crowd of people eager to please their King by condemning another to death. He saw Sebring, his Father's greasy servant fawning at his side, bowing and scraping and grovelling to gain approval. Then he thought of Merlin and smiled privately to himself as he compared the two, glancing over to where his manservant stood at the edge of the crowd. If there was one thing that he could trust it was that Merlin would always speak his mind and indeed had done so from the moment he met him. As irritating as that had been at the time, especially to a Royal such as himself so used to the lower ranks falling over themselves at the opportunity of serving him… he could see its merits now. When he was King he would demand his advisors speak freely and truthfully. He would welcome all council… Yes when the time came for him to be King he would do things very differently. He just hoped that after today he would not be disinherited and would still one day ascend to the throne….

Uther raised his right hand to silence the court and immediately an expectant hush fell upon the room, "Arthur, instruct your men to bring in the Sorcerer, we will commence the trial."

Arthur took a deep breath and raised his head high, there was no turning back now, "No Father," he said.

Uther's head snapped round to stare at his Son, his eyes wide with disbelief, "I beg your pardon?" he asked incredulously.

The Prince did not waiver, "I said no Sire; I cannot do that."

"Do not tell me you have failed to capture her!" exclaimed the King.

As the two Royals spoke, Merlin slipped to the back of the crowd and eased a small shard of mirror out from beneath his cloak. Angling it towards the shadow filled corners of the court room; he began slowly sweeping every crevice in search of any sign that the Scáthan was present. It was a risky gamble but Arthur had had to be bold in his claims in order to hopefully attract the attention of the sorcerer and bring her to the court. Now the trap had been set but if their prey was not tempted… Arthur would have a lot of explaining to do…

"She is not in custody," continued Arthur grimly.

"You informed me you knew where the witch was this morning!" thundered Uther.

"You are mistaken," replied Arthur bluntly, "I did not say I knew _where_ the witch was… I said I knew _what_ she was." With that he removed the Standard from beneath his cloak, unrolled it and held it high for all to see. "She _is_ Scáthan Father… and her people _were_ once allies of this Kingdom."

There was a collective intake of breath at the mention of the Scáthan, a name most people in the room had sworn never to utter again and all eyes turned to Uther as a terrified silence filled the room.

The King's knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of his throne with both hands and leaned forward angrily, blood rushing to his face in rage, "How dare you mention those people in my presence… how _dare_ you defy my orders!"

"How can I be expected to follow those orders if I do not know the truth about my quarry?"

"Your orders were to locate the Sorcerer, nothing more-"

"It _is _more than that! This creature can move in and out of the shadows at whim and you would send me on a wild goose-chase to find her, even when you knew her to be Scáthan."

"I know no such thing," hissed the King, his voice lowering dangerously, "The Scáthan people were wiped out for their crimes against this Kingdom decades ago, you are talking nonsense."

"And you continue to claim these people were not allied to the crown?" asked Arthur, throwing the banner at his Father's feet in disgust.

"What is this?"

"Surely you recognise it? It's Grandfather's Standard!" Arthur exclaimed, "It's just like your own apart from the additional Scáthan motto wrapped around the Dragon's neck."

Arthur took a sideways look at Merlin, raising his eyebrows in silent question. Merlin simply raised his shoulders in response… he still had not found any sign of the woman.

"I have never seen this before in my life," replied the King calmly, his eyes flicking around the room, daring anyone to challenge him.

"You can't be serious!"

"Are you calling me a liar… Son?" he asked menacingly, "Choose you words very carefully."

Arthur searched his Father's face desperately for any sign that he would relent and accept the evidence that he had put before him, but the King's eyes were dark, his jaw firm and Arthur knew that nothing would sway him.

"Fine," he said reluctantly, "But even if the alliance was never in place, that still does not answer why you cannot accept that one of these creatures _could _have survived and returned today to seek revenge for her people. It doesn't explain why you would be so against this idea that you would rather continue to accuse and torture you own Ward than entertain that possibility!" Once again he looked fretfully around the room for Merlin. Every now and again he could see his red neckerchief through the legs of the noblemen but there was obviously still no sign of the Scáthan and Arthur was starting to sweat.

"I am certain the sorcerer is not Scáthan because it is impossible," said Uther, his eyes still blazing fiercely, "and you have shown me no proof to convince me otherwise except this fabricated scrap of material." The King sat back in his throne, appraising his Son coldly, "This is nothing but a ruse to hide the fact that you have failed to locate the sorcerer… and to attempt to protect Morgana," he said slowly, shaking his head, "You have allowed your sentimentality to blind you."

"She is innocent," Arthur replied adamantly.

As he approached the far corner of the room, just left of the great doors, Merlin froze in shock as he saw what appeared to be a dark shadow moving across the flag stones and slipping into the recess behind the candelabra.

"You would side with her and pit yourself against me? Against the throne?" demanded the King, growing more and more outraged, "That is tantamount to treason Arthur. As Prince of this realm do you think yourself above reproach?"

"No Father I do not… as King of this realm, do you?"

Pointing the mirror hurriedly in the wake of the shadow, Merlin's heart leapt into his throat as he saw a pair of ice-blue eyes staring calmly back at him.

"How _dare_ you question me!" fumed Uther as the crowd murmured in disbelief at the Prince's bold stand, "You will-"

"Arthur!" shouted Merlin, cutting across the King as he threw their homemade smoke bomb in the direction of the shadow, his eyes burning gold for an instant as he commanded fire to consume the misshapen lump, his back to the crowd so no-one would see. With a loud hiss it caught light and streams of smoke instantly erupted from its amber coloured core, shooting out in all directions and quickly filling the room. A mass of courtiers began fleeing from the smoke in panic, scrambling over one another in an attempt to get out of the door.

"What is this devilry!" shouted Uther over the melee, beginning to choke and splutter as his personal guard instantly fell into order around him, aiming their swords uncertainly at the rolling columns of smoke swirling all around them.

Merlin and Arthur shared a nervous look as they stared apprehensively into the corner and still no woman appeared.

"Guards, seize that servant boy and bring him before me!" commanded the King, "I demand to know the meaning of this!"

Two guards made a move to restrain Merlin but stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes widening in terror as right before their eyes a tall flame-haired woman with piercing blue eyes, wearing a light grey cloak seemed to appear out of the very wall. She paused for a moment and stared ah her own hands, as if to confirm to herself that she was in fact solid flesh once more. Then, her head held high, she stalked purposefully through the billowing smoke to stand proudly before Uther.

Immediately Arthur saw the flaw in their plan; he had no intention of killing the Scáthan woman so what would they do once the smoke cleared? He looked quickly to Merlin and the perplexed look on his face told him that the same thought had just occurred to him too. Covering his face in the crook of his arm he walked cautiously toward the woman, his own sword drawn and levelled at her back. There was no time to worry about that now.

Taking in the turmoil of the court room, Lamrieth turned and fixed Uther with a contemptuous glare and smiled at him knowingly, "My King," she said, effecting a mock bow, "I believe you have been searching for me…"

*****


	17. The Truth will Out

_**Chapter 17: The Truth will Out**_

The smoke that churned throughout the court room created a strange, ethereal quality to the scene playing out within those four walls, as the few that remained faced one another in an awkward standoff.

Lamrieth, her fiery hair cascading down her back, held Uther in the cold stare of her pale blue eyes, watching the look of horror on his face with quiet glee. The Royal guard held their ground, the tight knit semi-circle that protected the King wavering only slightly at the Scáthan's self-confident stance, while Merlin and Arthur brought up the rear, their swords levelled defensively at her back.

"Who are you?" Uther asked finally, recovering himself slightly.

"You do not recognise me?" questioned Lamrieth innocently, whipping her cloak around herself with a flourish and at once transforming her appearance before them. The King's eyes nearly fell from his own head as he stared once more at the dark haired sorcerer that had so eluded capture for the past few days. "Nothing but a parlour trick I assure you," she said dismissively as the illusion melted away and her own features re-appeared, "But effective nonetheless."

"No… it cannot be," Uther breathed in horror, "…Those eyes…"

"Has it been such a long time, my liege, that you would forget us so entirely?" the sorcerer asked almost wistfully, "Perhaps I should refresh your memory…" Merlin, Arthur and each of the guards moved as one to alter their defensive stance as Lamrieth walked casually toward the King, their steps like a perfectly synchronised dance, "My people are indeed that noble race of Scáthan's you have been so quick to dismiss. I stand before you whole and yet a shadow… you can deny it no longer."

It was as if an invisible force had wrapped cold hands around Uther's very core and shaken him to life as these words were uttered, for all at once he leaped from his throne with a snarl. Clutching at the tunic of the guard that stood directly in front of him, he pointed an accusing finger over his shoulder, aimed directly at the woman, "Enough of these lies!" He spat, "What are you waiting for, seize her at once!"

The Scáthan woman merely laughed at this outburst as the guards began to move toward her, the laugh turning into a guttural cry as she lowered her head menacingly. Peering up at them through her long lashes, her smile now became a contemptuous sneer as she held both of her hands up towards them, palms out. Drawing in a deep breath she closed her eyes for an instant before letting it out in an almighty rush, her eyes flashing brilliantly as a wave of pure energy exploded out of her, knocking over each and every guard and lifting them bodily into the air to land in various states of consciousness around the room.

Turning to face Merlin and Arthur, her out-stretched palms now flicked briefly to each side, causing their swords to fly across the court room obediently and clatter harmlessly to the floor. She gave them each a satisfied smile as they stared at her open mouthed, before turning to face the King once more. Now fully exposed, Uther staggered backwards, collapsing awkwardly onto his throne, clutching at the arms in shock.

"Now… You will listen to my words - _your majesty_," she said calmly, sarcasm dripping from her lips. She drew herself up to her full height and regarded Uther with contempt before continuing. "Just over two decades ago you came very close to wiping out my entire race… and the injustice my people experienced at your hand that day has eaten at my soul every waking moment of my life," she said, the emotion rising in her throat, "My purpose of coming to Camelot was to tear your world apart as mine had been… and what better way to accomplish that than turn you against the ones you love-"

"Then Morgana _is _innocent!" exclaimed Arthur triumphantly, "You set her up."

The sorcerer eyed him coolly over her shoulder, "You speak as if you have not championed her cause this very hour my Prince."

"I have," he agreed, "But without proof."

She nodded once in acknowledgment, "Now you have it," she said briefly, turning back to Uther, "This plan however was ultimately flawed."

"Flawed?" repeated the King apprehensively, casting his eyes about the room despondently at his fallen guard.

"Yes sire," she confirmed, the way her lips formed the words belying any idea of respect, "It seems my actions were unnecessary… the way you turned so readily on your beloved Ward and then lied so easily to your only Son would suggest to me that the damage has long been done to this most _royal_ family."

"No – that is not true-" began Uther, his eyes darting with unease toward Arthur who would not meet his gaze.

"I'm sure the sting in Morgana's back would say otherwise," she said coldly, drawing the King's attention back again.

"You cannot blame me for something you set in motion!"

"I may have set your bow Uther, but I did not make you release the arrow."

"This is absurd!" exclaimed the King in exasperation.

"Either way, I have decided that the failed outcome of my plan is not enough… instead I will have you admit the truth before your Son. I will hear your own voice acknowledge responsibility for the atrocities of that day."

Uther wet his dry lips hesitantly, "I will not be cowed by a witch."

A heavily silence filled the vast hall and Arthur shot Merlin an apprehensive look, nervous in his defencelessness. Merlin too felt the prickling itch of anxious worry steal over him as he began to sense just how powerful this woman was… and how useless the precautions they had taken had proven to be.

The witch in question held Uther in a deadly stare, her ice-blue eyes boring into his as he continued to hold his ground defiantly. "So be it," she said eventually, "If you are too much a coward to confess your sins, I will help you on your way."

"Nothing you could say would-"

"Silence!" she commanded, his words dying on his lips, "You will have your turn to speak, that I promise you."

Uther gaped at the fiery haired woman before him in disbelief, for try as he might, his tongue could no longer form the words he wished to utter.

Folding her arms across her chest, the Scáthan continued, "The name I gave you in this very room two days ago is one that I have worn for many years. Bhrón… it suits the life I have lived. A life filled with sorrow. However that has not always been the case," she said slowly, "from birth my name was and always has been… Lamrieth."

Each syllable of the name dripped from her lips like honey and the King's pupils shrank visibly in recognition of this name. He sucked in his breath in shock, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I can assure you it is," she replied merrily, "so it would seem that your memory has not entirely left you… now perhaps you understand my reasons for seeking you out, for bearing such a grudge for so long." Uther said nothing, simply continuing to stare at her wide eyed. "I came here to clear the good name of my Father but also… to watch you suffer… just as my Mother suffered."

"No," croaked Uther, feeling his throat loosen once more, "No… it cannot be, this is a trick, a cruel trick!"

Lamrieth smiled benevolently at the flailing monarch, before blithely turning her back on him and facing Arthur once again, "The King has finally grasped my intentions and yet the Son is still blissfully ignorant… now that will not do at all."

"Arthur, do not listen!" cried the King, "It is nothing but-"

Lamrieth casually raised her right hand and Uther's words froze in the air like fog on a winter's morning, his face contorting with the effort of voicing his objections and failing miserably.

"It may surprise you, Arthur, to learn that my Mother was not from Scáthia," she said, indifferent to Uther's protestations behind her, "She was human, but then as all Scáthans were at one time also pure blood men and women the match was still a good one." Stepping out to one side she slowly brought the King back into her eye line, keeping Arthur to her right so that she could see both Royals at once, "That was why you suggested the marriage was it not Uther? It was the perfect way to cement the alliance of our two nations and ensure the loyalty of my people. A good match… my Father, King of Scáthia… and Lady Constance of Engvar… your own sister."

"Sister?" echoed Arthur in astonishment, his blue eyes full of confusion. Merlin's own face mirrored this confusion perfectly and the young warlock stood gaping at Lamrieth, only his eyes roving between the collection of royals, utterly taken aback by the revelation. Gaius had given no hint that _this _may be the reason the Scáthan had come to Camelot!

Uther said nothing, his body visibly sagging in his grand throne as the truth was finally laid bare before them all.

"I don't understand," continued Arthur, "My Father has no Sister – and I do _not_ have an Aunt!"

"No…" Lamrieth agreed, her eyes softening with sadness, "And I do not have a Mother."

"Arthur… you don't understand I-"

"The day you condemned my people to death," declared Lamrieth loudly, interrupting the King effortlessly, "you held an immense banquet in the great hall of this very castle, under the guise of celebrating the alliance between Camelot and Scáthia. You plotted to trap my people within those four walls and slaughter each and every one."

"Father, I know you have no Sister, tell her!" Arthur implored, staring beseechingly at the pallid face of the King.

"How could you condemn her to death also?" Lamrieth asked, ignoring Arthur's plea as long pent up emotions churned inside her and tears began to form in her crystal blue eyes, "She was your family… your blood!"

"It wasn't like that…" said Uther quietly.

"Father?"

"Then please – enlighten us!" cried the Scáthan woman, choking out her words bitterly.

"I had arranged for her to be absent," he said in a low voice, his eyes staring into the middle distance as he recalled that fateful day.

"No, this is absurd! Father, tell me this isn't true!" demanded Arthur in desperation.

The King appeared not to have heard his Son, lost as he was in his own memories, "Arthur was just a baby; I asked Constance to watch over him during the festivities… I do not know _why_ she was in the great hall…"

"So you would let her live but arrange for everyone she knows and loves… including her own _daughter_, to be slaughtered," cried Lamrieth in outrage, "What kind of life would you have left her with?"

Her words finally roused Uther from his stupor and he looked up at her, appearing to see her for the first time, "She should not have been with your kind at all! When I finally saw the true nature of what you _are,_ I was disgusted. I gave Constance every opportunity to leave you people and rejoin me… I would have protected her and-"

"You speak of us as if we are savages!"

"You are worse!" roared the King, rising from his seat in anger, "You are _sorcerers."_

"And yet you, Uther Pendragon, are the madman who would rather kill his own sister than admit he is wrong!"

"Enough!" spat Uther, his face blood red with fury as he slowly seated himself once more, "I do not care _who_ you claim to be, you WILL face execution for your-"

A blood curdling laugh ripped from Lamrieth's throat and echoed around the room, skittering among the swirling smoke as she looked mockingly at the King of Camelot, her eyes hard and cold.

"You think that you can execute me?" she laughed, fixing Uther with a chilling stare as her face grew serious once more. In an instant she had vanished from her place in the centre of the court room, only to re-appear a split-second later at Uther's back. Taking a fistful of hair in her left hand she wrenched back his head and thrust the blade of a dagger against his exposed throat. "Will you never learn Uncle?" she sighed derisively, "We Scáthan are far too powerful to be stopped by your pitiful swords… you however," she added, pressing down on the blade and forcing Uther to hiss in pain as a trickle of blood oozed down his neck, "You are nothing but a meat sack, ready to be split from navel to nose…"

"No!" shouted Arthur, unshed tears of shame and disappointment rising dangerously in his eyes.

"Why?" screamed Lamrieth in response, her own cheeks glistening as tears of grief poured down them, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit his throat now?"

"Don't sink to his level," said Merlin hurriedly, holding his hands open to show he was no threat, while all the time inching toward her, "He killed his sister, you would be killing your Uncle-"

"This would be justice!" she seethed.

"He is still my Father," said Arthur quietly, his eyes locked with Uther's as the King sat pinned by the dagger at his throat, his expression closed, unreadable.

"He destroyed so many lives, so many_ innocent_ lives… why should he deserve to live?"

"_Enough!"_ thundered a booming voice that seemed to resonate through the very walls. Merlin and Arthur peered about the room, unable to see its source, as Lamrieth instantly dropped the dagger she had clutched so fervently before and stumbled back from the throne. Uther continued to stare ahead, his sudden reprieve apparently lost on him.

There was a keening sound from above, followed by a sudden rush of wind as the entire pressure of the room seemed to shift and then all at once the very air before them appeared to rent in two. Piercing shafts of light burst out from this fissure, partially blinding all those in the court. Uther sat far back in his throne, one arm raised in an attempt at shielding himself from the blinding rays, blood still dripping unnoticed down his neck; while Merlin and Arthur both stumbled backwards, crouching against the far wall. Only Lamrieth stood her ground and did not attempt to cower from the radiant beam.

As their eyes slowly adjusted, they began to make out the image of a man, emerging from the illumination. Light shone out from his every pore and an ever shifting aura of luminescence churned about him creating a wraithlike appearance. Upon his head sat a crown inlaid with smaller diadems that flashed gloriously in the smoky confines of the court room.

As Uther slowly lowered his hand, he peered intently at the shining form before him until all the colour drained suddenly from his face and one word dropped like a stone from his lips, "…_Skoll."_

_*****_


	18. Return of the King

_**Chapter 18: Return of the King**_

Colours danced painfully before Arthur's eyes as he shook his head briefly from side to side in an attempt at clearing his vision, peering blearily through the thinning smoke. He scrubbed impatiently at the tears that only moments ago had threatened to fall at the thought of losing his Father and the image of the broad man before him slowly swam into focus, the momentary blindness starting to pass as the young Prince stared open mouthed at the overwhelming form before him.

The figure's stature appeared immense, the diadems of the sparkling crown reaching up into the rafters of the court room while his feet hovered a cubit above the flagstones of the floor. Broad shoulders were draped with a long cloak that billowed out behind him, stirring up the smoke in its path, while the outlines of a simple tunic and breeches shimmered with radiance and light. The features of the being's face were bleached out of recognition by the brilliance of the illumination, leaving just two piercingly clear eyes beaming out and slicing perfectly through the shadowy room.

A temperate agitation in the air flew across Arthur's skin as the creature's entire mass appeared to swell in one giant breath, the light it exuded getting impossibly brighter still. Then there was a moment's pause, a hairs-breadth of a second where the whole room seemed to stand still; every fibre of Arthur's being alive with expectant dread as he looked on, powerless. There was a slight whistling noise and a rush of wind and before his eyes the Prince saw the formation of the vast figure disintegrate in front of him. Tiny particles of light began to dissipate and fade, while from the epicentre of the creature, the solid outline of a man began to emerge. Eyes firmly closed in concentration, the new-formed replica of the colossus that had just filled the room raised his arms, appearing to command the dispersing light to gather once more to himself, solidifying and emphasising his features until each contour of his frame was sharp and focused. His composition was still one of translucent light but the brilliance which burned at the nucleus of his soul was somehow dimmed, controlled. His clothing shimmered as if sewn from the stars and his skin had the appearance of polished ice. A flickering brightness surrounded his body as his radiance lapped against the swirling smoke of the room.

"…Skoll!" he heard his Father cry and only now could Arthur tear his eyes from the spectacle before him and turn to look at the King. Uther's face was deathly pale as he too stared at the mysterious creature, his eyes bulging out in terror. His jaw twitched nervously as he attempted to find further words but instead continued to gape in silent fear.

"I see the years have been kind to you, King of Camelot," came the resonant response, the gleaming figure's voice echoing around the room loudly.

"No…" choked the King, shaking his head slowly in disbelief, "It is… it is impossible."

"It is improbable Uther, not impossible."

"You know this man Father?" asked Arthur in wonder.

Uther appeared not have heard his Son, dazed as he was by the figure before him, "…I saw you… I saw your blood spilled, I watched you burn on the pyre with my own eyes!"

"Sire, who _is_ this creature?" demanded Arthur.

"He is no _creature_," spat Lamrieth, her eyes ablaze with indignation, "He is King of all Scáthia… He is my Father."

"No!" insisted Uther, his voice finding strength at last, "This is some form of Sorcery! This is-"

"No Uther," said Skoll calmly, his loud voice easy cutting him off, "I am no illusion and there is no trickery… I am Skoll."

"I don't understand," questioned Arthur in confusion, directing his words at Lamrieth, "You said you came here to avenge your Father… and yet he lives?"

"I came to avenge his name… the memory everyone has of his false treachery. I came to expose Uther as the tyrant he is… and watch him suffer in the process."

"An act that you undertook against my wishes child," admonished Skoll, fixing his piercing eyes on his daughter who in turn lowered her head and looked to her feet in acquiescence.

"I could not bear to let the injustice stand," she mumbled quietly.

"An emotive reaction that has merely led to more injustice," countered Skoll evenly.

Lamrieth squirmed silently for a second before raising her chin in defiance, "Involving Morgana was unfortunate but… I believe a necessary evil to prove that-"

"Inflicting pain on another, or orchestrating such events is never necessary Daughter, our history has taught us this lesson only too well," cut in the Scáthan King, staring pointedly at Uther as he spoke, "Fetch the girl here, I would speak with her myself."

With Morgana's name now cleared there was no harm in having her brought before the King, Arthur reasoned as he signalled numbly to one of Uther's personal guard, who was cowering up against the far wall of the room, to carry the message to the Lady Morgana and summon her to the court room. With a swift and grateful bow of acknowledgment, the guard fled thankfully from the large hall and hurried off on his task.

"Tell me…" whispered Uther urgently, oblivious to the shift in conversation, "Tell me how it is you live."

"The very nature of my existence would baffle you."

"Tell me!" cried the King frantically, "Tell me how it is I saw your lifeless body laid out next to my Sister's that day and now here you stand before me!" Uther's voice cracked with emotion as he mentioned Constance, his features half crazed with frustration.

Skoll contemplated the monarch trembling with agitation before him for a moment, before finally nodding his head in agreement, "Very well," he began, pacing slowly across the hard floor of the court room, "It is true what you say; I did die that day as you would comprehend it. My heart ceased beating and the blood poured freely from my veins… but that spark which we call life was not extinguished."

"Then you are… a spirit?" breathed Arthur in awe.

The Scáthan King cast a benevolent look at the Prince, "No child, we are not spirits such as the ones found in your Christian codices, nor the pagan traditions of the old religion," turning his head once more, Skoll levelled his crystal blue eyes at Uther, "Your lives are governed by the life blood within your fleshly bodies, the air you breath and the heart beating in your chests; whereas we Scáthans long ago learned to break those components down to move as pure energy into the realms of light and shadow. With our physical bodies gone we are neither man nor spirit… we are simply light and energy bound only by our sentient power and our vital force. It is simply the next step in our progression."

Arthur's mind reeled at these revelations; his brain struggling to accept what his common sense kept telling him was an impossibility. The King's own face mirrored his Son's perfectly and a baffled silence filled the room. Only Merlin looked neither confused nor puzzled… simply concerned at what this vast power could mean.

"He said you would not understand," crowed Lamrieth smugly, darting her eyes between the two Royals with glee.

"Then I pray you… explain it to me," implored the King.

"Why is it you seek this knowledge?"

"Please…" begged the King, the desperate, pleading tone of his voice at odds with his usually assertive and commanding character.

"If you insist… then I can do better than mere words, Pendragon," said Skoll, moving as smooth as water and faster than lightening to the King's side, "I can show you…"

Skoll raised both hands and placed his icy finger-tips to Uther's temples, freezing the King of Camelot's features in a startled look of surprise. The aura of light that surrounded the Scáthan King seemed to swell and grow, enveloping Uther in its radiance. He uttered a strangled moan of pain as his eyes dilated to full black saucers, his jaw hanging loosely open, and saliva beginning to fall in long tendrils across his chin as the translucent man before him pressed firmly into his skull.

Arthur let out a cry of concern and had he turned to his left he would have seen Merlin raise his right arm in panicked fear; his eyes burning golden for an instant in an attempt to protect his liege… but all with no affect. Both men were held fast in their tracks, impotent in their powerlessness and even Merlin found his magic to be no match for the power of the shadow man.

With a jolt, Uther's head snapped back, his eyes opening wide with shock as beams of light appeared to blast out from Skoll's eyes and into his own pupils… every fibre of his being pulsated with energy and all the veins in his skull bulged beneath his skin. As the light continued to burn, Uther's senses were overloaded and there appeared to him to be a dense darkness enveloping his vision.

The inky gloom sank slowly around him, seeping into every corner of his mind until only the tangible hand of the darkness squeezing itself upon his lungs remained… and everything else faded to black.

*****


	19. Contrition

_**Chapter 19: Contrition**_

For what seemed like an eternity there was nothing… then, within the darkened bubble of Uther's mind an immense flame appeared before him with an almighty roar; a globe shaped inferno spinning lazily on its own axis. Smaller globed objects seemed to be orbiting this fiery ball with perfect synchronicity. As Uther watched, his perception shifted and suddenly he could see hundreds, thousands… _millions_ of these burning globes, all with their own collections of smaller balls circling perfectly around them. Moving at speed now, Uther passed effortlessly through this sea of fire and suddenly erupted from their midst as a fish would leap from the sea. This strange vision moved behind him at an amazing pace, his senses shooting through a vast expanse at great speed, other wondrous objects hurtling past him as little more that large blurs. Small explosions of fire began to light up the dark void and a breathtaking array of colours filled his sight.

More and more images now flashed before the King's eyes and he struggled desperately to comprehend each one and fathom the wonders that were being thrust upon him. He saw the arc of a star blazing across the night sky; the light refracting off of the surface of a river; he saw the path of the sun chasing the moon and in each image he saw with perfect clarity, the infinite stores of energy linking every living thing around him. Uther saw these images hurtling before his eyes at an impossible rate and then, just as he thought he might pass out, there was a blinding light and when his vision cleared he was seated as before on his throne, Skoll standing patiently by his side, his arms folded neatly behind his back.

Almost before he could register the things he had been shown the vivid clarity of his vision began to fade, replaced only by a piercing headache and a vague sense of awe, a sense that he had seen something that he would never quite understand but would always sit just out of reach at the fringes of his memory.

Feeling a small trickle of moisture on his lip, Uther raised his hand and felt something warm and wet. Looking dazedly at his fingers he saw a trace of crimson blood and it took him several moments longer to realise that his nose had begun to bleed.

"What did you do to him?" shouted Arthur angrily, desperately trying to move his sluggish limbs to aid his Father.

"Simply what he asked," replied Skoll calmly, "I revealed the very building blocks of creation to him so that he might fully understand our existence… although," he added as an afterthought, "I fear his mind was not quite up to the task."

"Such… power," choked Uther at last, his skin a sickly shade of grey, a sheen of sweat upon his brow, "Constance…"

"No," interjected the Scáthan King dryly, "Constance is not a part of that world. She was not Scáthan… she could not manipulate the elements of her own physical body, let alone make this leap of existence that was forced upon us," Skoll stared appraisingly at Uther, "I know that this was the reason for demanding insight into our world but I cannot ease your conscience for you… she _was_ slaughtered that day by your hand."

Some last vestige of strength seemed to finally give way in Uther and his face visibly crumbled, his head hanging forward into his hands, the blood running from his nose forgotten, "Why did you not kill me," he breathed quietly, barely above a whisper, "with so much power, why have you not returned before now to take your revenge?"

"The world does not revolve around you _Pendragon_," Skoll replied scathingly, anger burning for an instant in his eyes before returning to their usual icy calm, "When you slaughtered our bodies you destroyed the vessels that linked us to this world and for a long time we were cast to the four winds, trapped in that darkness that you first saw in your vision… our initial priority was to gather ourselves together again and rebuild the civilisation that you had destroyed."

"But still you did not return?" asked Uther in wonder, unable to comprehend a world without reprisals and bitter revenge.

"My people have sworn a solemn vow of peace - the enlightenment we experience has no place for such human emotions," with an affectionate smile, Skoll turned and rested his gaze upon his daughter, "Lamrieth however is half human and still possess her physical from… she feels her passions most strongly, bound as she is to her mortal coil."

"He slaughtered most of our people Father," countered Lamrieth hotly, "I believe that my feelings are justified."

"Your Mother was killed because of my actions… I understand your feelings only too well," Uther agreed sadly, staring at his hands in shame.

"Enough of your self pity," thundered Skoll, his appearance seeming to grow taller in an instant, suddenly towering over Uther's pallid form, "It may contradict my principles to seek to settle this score with you but that does not mean that I will allow you absolution for your actions," the ice figure seethed, his eyes burning brightly, "Your Sister was as good as dead to you in that clearing twenty two years ago when you set your scheme in motion. Do not pretend you _once_ thought of her as you planned our deaths."

"That's not _true_," denied the King, "I thought I was doing the right thing… I thought I was protecting her!"

"Can you not see how your paranoia has eaten you up? Just because a man has magic, he is not automatically evil," insisted Skoll, "Or in your case, just because a man _does not_ have magic… he is not automatically good," the Scáthan King gestured across at Arthur, "Your own flesh and blood has now witnessed your true colours. You are a hypocrite Uther… and a coward. Your death, when it comes, shall be a blessing to us all."

A small noise from the doorway announced Morgana's presence and all turned to face her as she entered the room in trepidation, her eyes growing wide at the awesome sight of the King of Scáthia in front of her. The guard that had escorted her could go no further than the entryway before his feet were held fast, his sword raised uselessly before him, leaving Morgana alone to approach the small group in the centre of the room. Stepping towards her, Skoll's majestic height once again shrank back to normal proportions and he regarded Morgana with his crystal blue eyes, seeming to weigh up the hidden depths of her soul in that one moment.

"Lady Morgana," he said at last, bowing his head in greeting, "I trust you are well?"

"Quite well, thank you," she replied tentatively, taking in Arthur and Merlin's strained expressions and Uther's bloodied nose and neck, "May I ask whom I am addressing?"

"Forgive me," replied the translucent creature before her, "My name is Skoll of the House of Derrwyn, King of the Scáthans."

"You are Scáthan?" she repeated cautiously, looking to Arthur and Merlin for confirmation, "So did all go to plan?"

Arthur looked darkly at his almost Sister, "Not quite," he stated simply as Merlin peered ruefully over his shoulder.

"Has the matter of my innocence in Brhón's escape been accepted by the King?" Morgana pressed further, staring expectantly at the vacant expression of her guardian.

"It has," confirmed Skoll, more as a command than an agreement, "and I offer you my apologies that you have suffered as a direct result of these affairs."

The Scáthan King now slid effortlessly toward Morgana until his massive frame filled her vision, his brilliant blue eyes boring intently into hers. Taking a step back, her heart faltered in apprehension as Skoll lifted his hands and placed them delicately to her temples. Gone was the force that he had thrust upon Uther, now his face shone with compassion.

A single gasp of surprise slipped from her lips as a sense of calm settled over her and her very mind seemed to open like a flower, unfurling its bounds with gentle clarity. A delicate light grew inside of her until every fibre of her being sang with the harmonious chords of light and energy.

"_Morgana,"_ sounded a voice, echoing in the recesses of her consciousness.

"_How is this possible?" _she choked wordlessly, the syllables tripping out of the synapses of her brain and into the ether of the light that surrounded her.

"_All things are possible if you search hard enough," _Skoll replied patiently_, "I sense your magic… and that you are afraid."_

"_," _her mind screamed, the words stringing together in her fear.

"_You need not fear your own abilities. Your magic is strong and with help… you can control it."_

"_But if I am discovered it will still mean death," _replied Morgana despairingly_, "My powers are a gilded cage under Uther's rule…I will never be truly free_," she whispered_._

"_Take heart child, the old tree has born golden fruit; the next King shall be a great ruler. That is a day we are all anticipating…"_

"_So why not end it now?" she _demanded, the frustration rising in her inner thoughts_, "You have such great power, why not end Uther's life right now and end this tyranny?"_

"_For the same reason that you could not… it is not in us to take a life, no matter what life that is."_

Morgana's passions wavered as she conjured up the feeling of standing above her guardian's prone form, knife in hand… and all of her resolve crumbled like dry soil between her fingers. Skoll was right; she could not… _would_ not be responsible for ending someone's life, not in cold blood.

"_So we have no option but to wait?"_

"_Have patience my child and use this time wisely. Life is a gift… do not waste it on revenge and anger, look long and hard at your guardian and see that it breeds nothing but more pain."_

A numb chill spread out across Morgana's skin as she slowly emerged from the induced stupor Skoll had pressed upon her and with a deep breath she opened her eyes serenely, unharmed by the experience.

Skoll stood once more in the centre of the room, his face directed at Uther's as if nothing had been exchanged between Morgana and himself. He made no mention of it and simply addressed the King of Camelot one last time.

"I take my leave Pendragon and trust that you will think on my words… for Constance if nothing else," instructed the Scáthan, gesturing for Lamrieth to come to his side, "and remember… your days are numbered and you have been found wanting… tread carefully for our eyes are always upon you."

No sooner had these words passed Skoll's lips than a fierce wind ripped into the room, whipping the air around them into a frenzy and engulfing the two Scáthan Royals in a vast whirlwind, stinging the eyes of the onlookers. The light emitted from the wraith-like King blazed brilliantly for a second before imploding with a terrific boom, rushing inwards towards a central nucleus of light that quickly faded to nothing. A sudden and eerie silence followed, the wind dying as quickly as it had begun, the last of the smoke dissipated by its blast.

His limbs free at last, Arthur took a few steps toward his Father, before finding his feet slowing to a stop. He gazed falteringly at the broken man that sagged limply in his throne and stood there, unsure of what to say or do. Morgana cast Merlin a furtive glance, searching his face for reassurance that everything she had witnessed had really come to pass. It seemed so oddly surreal now, for in those few short minutes, everything had changed… and nothing.

****


	20. Dragon's Wrath

_**Chapter 20: Dragon's Wrath**_

Deep beneath the walls of Camelot, amid the dank and festering catacombs of the city above; two scaled eyelids shot open, revealing large amber eyes, their pupils quickly shrinking to pin-pricks as an uneasy feeling of apprehension settled over the reptilian creature.

Flaring his nostrils in fear, Kilgharrah raised himself onto his haunches and took several deep breaths to steady himself. Slowly, his eyes rolled back in their sockets and his vision strained against the darkness until an imperceptible light crept across his consciousness and images began to swim into focus.

It had all been so clear before, his plans intricately mapped out over two decades. He had been so careful to ensure that all eventualities were considered and that all paths still lead to only one conclusion… his release. But now…. Now something was wrong, something unforeseen, unexpected and a feeling of dread rose from the pit of his stomach as realisation struck. He had been betrayed.

Before his eyes he saw the converging lives of Arthur, Morgana, Merlin and Guinevere play out in front of him, the flickering, pulsing images changing rapidly. At first he could see only the outlines of the path he had been so carefully constructing; Arthur oblivious to Merlin's powers and Merlin himself doubting his abilities, winding himself tighter and tighter around the Dragon's clawed finger. He saw Morgana, her eyes gaunt and hollow from lack of sleep, alone and confused, her hatred for Uther and her feelings of isolation pushing her ever closer to the dense pit of darkness that was always at her side. Lastly he saw Gwen, ever in the background, caring but too far removed to offer any real support to her mistress, prince or friend. This path, this glorious, finely tuned symphony of events led to one magnificent moment… a two edged sword slicing like butter through the irons that kept him chained like a dog in this infernal hell hole.

And then the serpentine smile that had wrapped itself unconsciously around Kilgharrah's lips began to fall as these images, once so bright and clear and true… faded into oblivion. Shaking himself in panicked frustration, the Dragon whipped his head from side to side as he searched impatiently for fresh images - a new path.

Slowly… hesitantly, new visions appeared, pale and ghostly at first and then brighter until the awful truth glared mockingly back at him. He saw the future King, his heart growing full and generous, wisdom resting upon his brow like a crown and there, by his side, was Merlin. How he had changed; no longer unsure and clumsy, Merlin had transformed into a strong and confident man, his prowess and self-confidence in his magic showing in his eyes. The two were close knit and a bond of trust could easily be seen.

Tearing his eyes away, the Dragon searched on into the murky haze of the future and spied Morgana, her face at peace now, her own magical abilities quietly growing with controlled schooling. No longer isolated and afraid, the King's ward now showed no signs of instability or the naivety that he had counted on. And Gwen, sweet underrated Gwen who had previously been so overlooked. Now here she was; lover, friend and confidant – the glue that bound all four of them together, the cornerstone of the group.

Choking back a strangled cry, the great beast huffed angrily through his immense nostrils and pushed his mind further into the future. He saw Uther's slow and quiet slide into death, old age creeping over him like an evening mist. No fanfare, no vile and bloody retribution… just one long final sleep while he, Drakon Kilgharrah, last of the mighty Dragon race in this ancient land, rotted interminably beneath his feet.

A blood curdling cry of rage erupted from the Dragon's throat, echoing violently off the walls of the catacombs as his eyes flew open once more, his worst fears realised.

Ceasing abruptly, Kilgharrah flared his nostrils, breathing in the scent of the caves deeply, searching carefully for the tell-tale sign that he was not, in face, alone. Narrowing his eyes, the Dragon peered into the darkness as Lamrieth stepped quietly out, unbidden, from behind the rock face.

"_You…" _he snarled, his voice dangerously low, a feral growl emanating from the base of his throat as he bared his teeth at her. "What have you _done!?"_

"I have come to my senses Lizard, nothing more."

"_You have betrayed me!"_

"Your vision is skewed _Y Ddraig Fawr, _oh _Great _Dragon," spat Lamrieth sarcastically, "It is _you_ who have betrayed _me_ with your fine tales of duty and destiny."

"You doubt the ancient prophesies?" asked the Dragon incredulously, his voice quiet and menacing, "Then you are more of a fool that I took you to be young Scáthan."

"Not at all, I believe them more now than ever," she replied blithely, "What I do _not _believe however, is your warped view of these portents where you can take two great men and two equally great women and twist their potential to suit your own desires."

"You are mistaken child," breathed the Dragon dangerously, "Did you follow nothing of our plan?"

"I confess I had begun along that path," she confirmed slowly, "But I could not see it through… not once I had seen your intentions."

"My intentions?" screamed the reptilian beast, quivering with rage, "My _intentions?_ You know _nothing_ of my intentions you snivelling little half-breed!"

"You underestimate me Lizard, I know more than you give me credit for and it is for this very reason that I revealed myself to Uther and cleared Morgana's name."

"_No!" _screeched the Dragon, lunging forward against the confines of his manacles toward the calm figure before him. Snarling ferociously in a broiling rage, the immense creature snapped his huge jaws at the young Scáthan princess, razor sharp teeth slicing through the air a mere few inches from her face. Unable to find any purchase on the bedrock of the cave and gain ground on his quarry, Kilgharrah raised himself up; drawing back is shoulders and heaving out his chest as he ejected a mighty stream of fire and burning air from his lungs, bathing the rock masses in a swathe of intense heat.

As the smoke and shimmering fire dissipated, Lamrieth appeared from their midst untouched and unshaken by this tempestuous outburst.

"I say once more, _Dragon_," began the young Scáthan, continuing the conversation as if nothing had happened and no blazing inferno had just washed over her person, "I know your intentions and I tell you now, you are discovered and your plot will not succeed. I saw your plans to earn the boys trust, while at the same time isolate Morgana until the perfect moment, that one last final favour where anything would be pledged to save a situation and enough seeds had been sewn to ensure you are believed… and the promise you have been waiting for two decades to be confirmed… that of your release and your revenge on Uther."

"You are mistaken," hissed the oversized lizard.

"It was a pretty plan indeed," Lamrieth continued, ignoring the Dagon's protests, "Morgana is uniquely positioned; her rank in the court would make Merlin wary of befriending her in the first place and then the confusion of her abilities and family ties that are sure to follow would only add to her isolation… helped along the way no doubt by the words of caution and mistrust that you fed the boy… and me."

Kilgharrah said nothing, simply fixing her with his cold amber eyes, throwing such hatred through his gaze that a lesser woman may have crumpled from their burning intensity alone.

"I understand your motive," continued the Scáthan, her voice softening slightly, "After all it was a similar intent that brought me here in the first place… what I don't understand are you methods. You preach a course of destiny for Arthur's Kingship and yet your own actions would eventually lead to the downfall of that very Kingdom." Lamrieth noted the look of surprise that flashed for an instant across the Dragons features, "Oh yes I know it all, I have seen the havoc you would wreak on Camelot upon your release. The blood, the death and destruction… and I have also seen the unhappy ending to Arthur's reign, at the hand of Mordred, that young boy who would be his enemy because of you and your dealings with Morgana."

"_Any why not?" _roared the dragon, flames licking like tongues of fire from his lips as he spat these words at her, "My freedom is more important than the pretty affairs of man!" Once again the Dragon reared up on his haunches, his two great wings beating the air into a frenzy, "My noble race can be revived but I cannot do that from here, from this dungeon or this Kingdom. Uther saw to it that all of my kind perished under his swords from here to the north shores but there is hope," stretching his great head forward he brought his face level with Lamrieth's, gazing steadily into her wary eyes, "In the land of the Orientals my kind live on and I _must_ go to them!"

A sudden silence filled the caves as the Dragon's tirade came to a close, the only sound to be heard being the ragged breathing of the reptilian creature, snorting air loudly through his nostrils, anger bubbling beneath the surface of his skin.

"And if that noble mission were your only thought, I would be inclined to release you myself," she replied eventually, "yet I cannot ignore the devastation you would leave in your wake and the fire that burns within you for revenge. That is the real reason you are playing these games, not for your release… for your _immediate_ release while Uther's heart still beats for you still it for him."

"You think you are any different?" growled the Dragon, half crazed with anger, "Why, not two days ago you stood before me desperate for Uther's split blood to avenge your people!"

Lamrieth appraised him coolly, "I admit my mistakes freely Kilgharrah, my anger and childish need for revenge blinded me completely… but rest assured I have had my vision restored, my Father saw to that."

"What did you say?" demanded the Dragon abruptly, her words quelling his fury in an instant.

"You heard me well enough."

Kilgharrah narrowed his piercing eyes distrustfully at her, "Your Father perished over two decades ago."

"His body perished, nothing more," she explained, "as was the case with many of my people. The fact that you were unaware of it is merely a testimony to the secluded life my people now lead."

"You lie," he spat, sitting back and regarding her suspiciously.

"I promise you… I do not."

"Then answer me this," commanded the beast, "If such a man _were_ to survive, how would he resist the urge to take his revenge on Uther and his inner court of preening peacocks?"

"Because he is a better man than you are, snake. I should have seen your hatred as a warning light but my own selfish designs spurred me on," Lamrieth replied, shaking her head at her own stupidity, "All was nearly lost, however I believe my Father has set things straight on all counts and Uther has at least been forced to face his past in every way."

"What do you mean," questioned the Dragon, leaning forward impatiently, his long black tongue flicking between his scaly lips in anticipation, eager to hear what had befallen his nemesis, "What happened, does Uther live?"

Lamrieth gazed up at the vast magical being before her and shook her head in pity at the darkness of the Dragon's heart and his fervent blood lust, "He lives Drakon, oh sharp-eyed one, but your bitter desires have cost you your freedom for now. I shall warn them of your cunning… you are an ancient being, a few more years in this dungeon will do you no harm until Uther passes and Arthur sees fit to set you loose."

"No! Please – wait!" howled the mighty Kilgharrah in panic as Lamrieth rose and wrapped her cloak about her once more.

"My Father has departed already to our shadow realm, I must follow shortly," she replied calmly, ignoring the writing creature in front of her, "Goodbye Kilgharrah."

With that the sleight figure of the Scáthan princess slipped quietly into the shadows, the Dragon's pleading wails echoing impotently behind her on the walls of the dank catacombs.

*****


	21. Aftermath

_**Chapter 21: Aftermath**_

"Father… are you alright?"

Arthur's tentative words hung for an age in the air as Uther sat, visibly shaking on his throne before them. His skin was a pallid shade of grey, the blood that was beginning to crust around his nose and neck giving him a gruesome appearance and his laboured breath rasped noisily around the court room walls. The Crown Prince took another step closer to the King, when he finally seemed to shake himself from his catatonic state and turned, blinking dazedly at the small audience before him.

"I said, are you alright Father?" Arthur repeated; his voice terse and edged with emotion.

As if in a dream, Uther slowly raised his hand to his face and neck, as if just remembering all that had come to pass. He winced slightly as his fingers probed the jagged gash that stretched across his throat but seemed satisfied that it was merely superficial, "Yes…" he said at last, bitterness creeping into his words, "I think I'll live."

"Good," his son replied, his eyes hardening into a steely glare as his concern turned to bile in his throat and he turned stiffly away, "In which case, you will excuse me-" he muttered, touching Merlin briefly on the arm as he went to signal for him to follow also.

"Arthur, wait!" Uther exclaimed, what was meant as a command sounding pitifully pleading as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

Arthur stood rigidly with his back to his Father, his eyes dropping to the floor in frustration as he clenched and unclenched his hands repeatedly.

"You must understand," the King began falteringly, addressing the back of his son's head, "I did _not_ mean for your Aunt to die that day."

"And what of the others?" Arthur demanded hotly, spinning round once more to fix his Father with a piercing look, "Did you not mean for the rest of her family to die either?"

As Arthur's impassioned words slapped Uther full in the face, a cold look of determination settled over his features as his old mantra sunk its claws once more into the King's psyche. "That's different," he said darkly, "They are magical creatures; you do not understand the threat that was posed to my Kingd-"

"_What threat?!_" cried Arthur, throwing his arms wide at the quiet, still court room, "Were we not both just stood in this _very room_ with the _King_ of those 'magical creatures' that posed such a threat? Tell me Father, how many of us did he slaughter?

"Arthur-"

"And how many of _his _people did _you _slaughter, Father?" asked the Prince boldly, staring the King defiantly in the eye. Uther gaped at him wordlessly, his eyes bulging at so damning an accusation. Arthur folded his arms across his chest with an air of finality, "Then maybe you should ask yourself… who is the _real_ threat?"

Merlin's jaw nearly hit the floor at Arthur's brash allegation and glanced furtively at Morgana, finding no comfort in the blazing look of hatred that she was also levelling at her guardian. The news that the slaughter of the Scáthan people had led to the death of Uther's own Sister not resting well with her.

"You are walking dangerous ground Son…" spat his Father through clenched teeth, "Be warned that I shall forgive it on this occasion, only because of the emotional trauma you have faced here today."

Arthur barked out a mirthless laugh, "That's marvellous. I find out today that my Father murdered his own Sister and _he_ forgives _me!"_

Something close to guilt and shame flickered across Uther's eyes, the fire dimming slightly inside him as those words hit home, silence stretching like a yawning chasm between them.

"You're right of course," he said at last in a low voice, Merlin's eyebrows shooting up in surprise at his change of feeling as he stared uneasily between the two royals, "…Can you forgive me?"

Arthur continued to stare his Father down for a second, no trace of emotion showing on his face, "It is not I that you should be apologising to," he replied dryly, "I am not the one you had flogged."

Uther's eyes flew instantly to Morgana as if only now remembering her presence in the room, his eyes widening as he recalled the ordeal he had put her through. Now true shame haunted his eyes as he took a few steps toward her, awkwardly holding out his hands in contrition, "Morgana, I-" lowering his gaze, Uther searched fruitlessly for the right words, "…you must understand how it looked."

"You of all people Uther, should know that where magic in involved - things are never as they seem," Morgana replied, her voice completely void of pity.

"But there were witnesses, there was evidence! What would you have me do?" Uther demanded, growing increasingly defensive.

"I understand the predicament you faced Sire," she countered, a hint of sarcasm lacing her words, "But it is one thing to punish someone in error… it is quite another to go to the lengths that you did, if it weren't for Arthur you may have had me beaten to death."

"Never!" cried the King in alarm, shaking his head adamantly in contradiction.

"But even when Arthur informed you of the Scáthan presence in Camelot you continued to accuse me!" exclaimed Morgana, incredulous at the Kings denial.

"It had been over _twenty years_ Morgana," stressed the King, an unseemly pleading quality entering his voice, "I thought it impossible that-"

"No Sire… that's what you _wanted_ to believe, so that you would not have to face the demons of your past."

"I had the Kingdom's best interest at heart…" he replied pathetically.

"And what Kingdom is that? A kingdom built on falsehood?"

"Morgana, enough!" Uther cried angrily, his bruised ego taking as much as it could bear.

"You are right, it is enough," agreed his Ward, nodding briefly, "You are my guardian and my King and I must respect the position that that affords you… but these positions are all that is left between us, Uther Pendragon," she said slowly, sighing in resignation, "…you have killed the rest."

With that, Morgana turned and walked quickly from the room, Arthur shooting one last unforgiving look at his Father before following in her wake with Merlin slinking out behind them both; leaving Uther standing alone in his court room, blood congealing about his neck and face amid the debris of the Scáthan's departure.

A King cut adrift in his own Kingdom.

*****

* * *

**A/N Well its been a great ride with this fic but I think we're about at the end, the next chapter will be the concluding part which I'll be posting later on in the week. Thanks so much to everyone who has stuck with it… you're reviews have been awesome ****GDx**


	22. New Beginnings

_**Chapter 22: New Beginnings**_

Without a word, Arthur took Morgana's arm and escorted her back to her chambers, squeezing her trembling fingers reassuringly in his own, "I'll fetch Gwen from Gaius' room to attend to you," he said quietly as they reached her chamber doors, "you must try and rest."

"Thank you Arthur," she replied in a low voice, finding herself suddenly drained from her confrontation with the King and everything that had occurred over the past few days. "And what about you, will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine," he answered brusquely, his voice conveying no such sentiment.

Morgana nodded in understanding, not wanting to press him further, "You know its laughable really," she said despondently, almost as an afterthought, "For all that Bhrón failed in her plan, one thing she has still accomplished… the Royal household has been split… and I'm not sure it will ever fully recover."

"Morgana," said Arthur solemnly, taking her arm for a second before she disappeared into her chambers, "we must be strong you and I… and count on each other. Agreed?"

Morgana smiled briefly at her adoptive brother, nodding her head in affirmation, "Agreed," she said as she held the door ajar, poised to close it behind her. She watched as Arthur gave a small satisfied nod and marched quickly down the corridor towards Gaius's workroom, his shoulders held rigidly and the weight of the recent revelations weighing heavily upon him.

Merlin scurried past, following quickly in his wake; as he went he turned to her momentarily, staring her intently in the eye and searching her face for signs that she was indeed bearing up as well as she claimed. He raising his eyebrows and tilted his head questioningly to the side, his earnest face conveying a hundred thoughts of concern in that one simple gesture. She gave as convincing a smile as she could muster; nodding that she would indeed be fine and sighed in relief as Merlin finally acquiesced and hurried off to catch up with his master.

With a deep breath she closed her chamber doors quietly behind her and turned to face the room inside. It felt like an age since she had been here, but glancing at the sun high in the sky she realised that it had been merely a few hours. Looking around her familiar surroundings, Morgana spotted the small, rectangular cushion still lying at the foot of her bed, the indentations clearly visible where she had been forced to kneel on it. Shivering involuntarily at the memory, she stooped quickly to pick it up. As she stood, a flash of movement caught her eye and with a jolt of surprise she came face to face with the young woman she had seen earlier in the throne room… Bhrón.

"You…" Morgana breathed with shock, as the red head before her smiled sadly at her and spread her arms to indicate that she meant her no harm, "What are you doing here?

"My Father gave you his apologies in the throne room… but I felt it necessary to speak with you myself," she replied, lowering the hood to her cloak as she spoke.

"And why should I listen to you?" Morgana retorted, clutching the cushion protectively to her chest as she stepped back up against her bed.

"Your feelings of animosity toward me are more than justified," Lamrieth answered, lowering her eyes away from Morgana's reproachful gaze, "You have suffered greatly at my hand and for that I am sorry."

The King's Ward studied the Scáthan woman before her for a few moments, sensing the sincerity in her words, "Just explain to me why," she said at last, "Why me?"

Lamrieth smiled ruefully at her, before hanging her head once more, "Simply because I happened upon you first, a few days ago in the market with your maidservant. I was consumed with inflicting revenge on the King, a slow and painful revenge and you were the perfect catalyst."

"Glad to have been of service," snapped Morgana bitterly.

"But I truly am sorry, if I had known then what I do now I would never have involved you."

"Known what?" she asked in surprise.

"Why… about your abilities of course!"

Abject terror settled in the pit of Morgana's stomach, her skin going pale with shock; until she remembered her conversation with Skoll in the throne room… he had known of her powers too. She had kept the secret of her growing abilities for so long that it was still so alien for another person to be talking so blithely about them. "So if I had been any other normal courtier, with no magical abilities, then you would have felt no compunction in seeing me whipped for your own designs?" she asked hotly.

"You misunderstand me Morgana," Lamrieth replied in a soft voice, "or maybe you do not, it is true, I cannot hide that I feel some affiliation to a fellow magical being… but hindsight is a wonderful thing and my Father has opened my eyes to the error of my ways. I regret my actions whatever your status."

The sincerity and honesty of her words touched Morgana and her eyes slowly softened toward the red-head. Sitting down on the edge of her broad bed, Morgana gestured for the other woman to join her, "Uther seems to have a natural ability at breeding enemies… his actions must have been devastating for you," she added gently.

"Uther's Sister, Constance, was my Mother…" she began, sitting down on the far side of the bed.

"Mother?" echoed Morgana in shock, the last pieces of the puzzle falling into place for her, "It seems I missed a great deal in the court room earlier… then that would mean that you are Arthur's cousin!" she exclaimed suddenly as realisation hit.

"Yes," Lamrieth replied simply, smiling softly at the irony, "It was quite a reunion."

"What happened to you… after that day," Morgana hesitated, not wishing to pry too deeply and upset her unexpected guest, "I mean… what led you back here after all these years?"

"The day of the banquet is one that will stay with me forever, I still do not know what was real and what was hallucinated," Lamrieth recounted, gripping Morgana's coverlet as the memories began to return to her, "I was a small child but I can remember the screams of my people so clearly; the ghoulish images and flashing colours haunt my dreams to this day… but mostly I remember the panic on my Mother's face as she tried to reach me from across the hall. Her fear scared me more than anything else - so I did the only thing I knew how… I hid in the shadow realm."

"Is that what you call it? The way you are able to disappear like that?"

Lamrieth nodded, taking a deep breath as she continued her story, "Five of us survived that day by hiding in the darkness, five young children terrified and afraid of returning to this physical world. We stayed huddled together in that place for months until we could hold out no longer, our fleshly bodies still needed feeding and one by one we found our way back. We survived that way for a while, foraging for food and then hiding once more among the shadows. We eventually found shelter with a group of Druids who raised us as their own… it was ten years before my Father found me again."

"Ten years…" echoed Morgana in sympathetic awe.

"It wasn't so bad a childhood," Lamrieth added, smiling at her recollections, "the Druids were kind to us, we were fortunate to find a group that adhered to the old ways and principles… they were a very wise people but some do unfortunately give them a bad name."

"Spurred on by the likes of Uther no doubt," replied Morgana darkly, "No wonder you have such hatred of him."

"My Father gradually told me all that had transpired that day… and what had become of my Mother," the Scáthan woman paused briefly, her voice heavy with emotion, "He tried to instil the Scáthan principles in me, not to allow hatred and vengeance to dominate your soul… but it was as if the anger I felt ate at me from the inside out and in the end I could not contain it any longer."

"I feel that way too sometimes," Morgana whispered, as if afraid that to say it aloud in private would still be enough to damn her, "seeing Uther murder one poor innocent creature after another, simply for possessing, or being linked with magic of any kind, is sometimes too much to bear."

Lamrieth nodded, searching the young Wards face for reassurance of her empathy, "Then you understand my actions… I believed that destroying Uther's family would be an apt punishment for destroying mine and the effect of it would be that much more painful than a simple stab to the heart… but I should never have taken his actions out on you… on any of you. Will you forgive me?"

"It is not a case of forgiveness but of understanding…" assured Morgana kindly, "who can say that I would not have done the same thing if I had been in your shoes?"

Lamrieth reached out and grasped her hand in her own, "Then it is enough," she said emphatically, her ice-blue eyes sparkling with gratitude as she rose and stepped toward the centre of the room.

"Will you return to your shadow realm now?" asked Morgana, her voice openly betraying the sadness she felt at seeing Lamrieth depart.

"I have one more visit to make before I join my Father in Scáthia," she replied cryptically, "There is another sorcerer not far from here that I must warn about a meddling Dragon."

"Dragon!?" exclaimed the King's Ward, her eyes growing wide in surprise.

"Do not fear," she replied soothingly, "his machinations were a mere trifle and they have been swiftly righted; you must not concern yourself."

"More secrets," said Morgana glumly, "I fear only that I shall be forever in the dark."

"Darkness is not your path my dear, I have seen to that," said Lamrieth reassuringly, though just as cryptically, a broad smile flashing across her face, "promise me only that you will trust in Arthur and the reign that he will bring with him. Listen to Merlin and Guinevere also, their council will prove invaluable."

"You're Father said much the same thing," laughed Morgana wryly.

"He is a wise man," smiled Lamrieth, "he taught me that our futures are our own, our paths are what we make them."

Reaching out, she lightly brushed her fingers over a sorry looking spray of flowers that had wilted from neglect over the past few days, her hand emitting a small glow of light as it passed. Before her eyes Morgana saw the flowers spring back to life, their petals growing full and plump once more and the leaves taking on a lush green glow.

"Your path is pure and fresh once more Morgana-"

"Was that ever in question?" interjected the raven haired woman in shock.

"You'd be surprise…" replied Lamrieth sadly, "we all have the capacity for darkness within us, as my own actions have regrettably shown; you must simply learn to listen to your own heart and compare the intentions of others to that standard and not be easily swayed. You have a new beginning, a clean slate… what you do with it is up to you," she counselled and no sooner were these words spoken than the solid form of her body dissipated into the shadows without warning, leaving Morgana still clutching the cushion to her chest and staring in awe at the bright flowers sitting happily in the vase on her dresser.

Reaching into the pocket of her skirts, she slowly withdrew the small silver box that she had secreted there earlier, tracing her fingers over the delicate carvings on its surface. A sudden shiver coursed through her and an odd sensation settled into her consciousness that she had narrowly avoided some dark misadventure written in the stars. It was strange… for all the anguish the young Scáthan had been intent on causing, and despite the aching pain that still stretched the length of her back, Morgana could not help but smile as she closed her fingers with determination around that tiny symbol of her new found abilities… and see the blessings stacked immeasurably in her favour.

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**A/N – And that, as they say, is all she wrote :D ****Hope the ending didn't disappoint! **

**I just wanted to say a great big thank you to Foxie Roxie, FireChildSlytherin5, Pink Koala, White As Snow and of course Mnemosyne77 for being so amazing with your reviews from start to finish. There is nothing more encouraging than knowing some people are there giving advice and support right to the very end so thanks guys – you have been awesome! Here's to the next story….**


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